Every year I see those educators who feel gut-wrenching sadness and shed tears with their kids as they share hugs on the way out the door in those final days of schools. Every year, I am not that teacher. While my learners would tout my skills as a teacher and as a writing instructor (most of them anyways), none of them would describe me as touchy-feely. And if you asked them about me in the last few days of school, they would probably laughing say that my mantra was something along the lines of "Sit down. Be quiet. And DO NOT ask me about your grades." Or they may even admit that I was counting the days long before they were.
Some days I think I should try a little harder to show the kids how much they mean to me. That I should give more hugs. That I should smile more. That I should write them teary goodbye letters. But anyone who knows me knows that this would probably just scare them. Every year kids write me thank you letters, give me gifts, stop by to see me during senior goodbyes, and every year the awkwardness that ensues is borderline hysterical. I smile too much because I am TRULY ecstatic and overjoyed that they see how much I care for them and to think I just MIGHT have left an impression. Then there is that ludicrous moment where they are trying to decide if a hug is appropriate--I am not even 5' tall and hugging a short person is logistically cumbersome.
As we gear up for the last few days of school and I am in full on reflection mode, I am actually happy to see them go. Not because I won't have to grade another essay for the next two months. Not because I won't have to discuss a child's grade with an angry child or an angry parent for the next two months. Not because I won't have to fill out ridiculous amounts of paperwork for the next two months. I am happy to see them go onto the next phase of their education. I am happy to see where they will go next and what they will do next.
One of our greatest gifts to our learners is to share apart of ourselves with our kids. For me, this means being me. In the words of my last written evaluation, I "keep it real." When I read that statement, I was a bit taken aback. I worried that that was somehow unprofessional or not really what an educator should be doing. But then, I realized that I am who I am. And maybe what teenagers need is a dose of "real." Not a bunch of blowing sunshine or putting them on pedestals, but good old fashioned conversations about the reality of their situation and the world they live in. As a teacher of high school juniors, I wonder if we can't have real conversations with them when they are seventeen years old, when exactly do we expect them to grow into real people with real responsibilities and a real voice in the world.
And so, I want to say thank you to all of the kids who have come through my doors, all of the administrators who have supported me, all of the colleagues who have changed my life for the better, and all of the support over the last 13 years. Just to keep it real, I'm sorry to see you go, but not as excited as I am to see the things that are waiting for you just around the corner.
