The Last Day of School

I drove home on Wednesday for the 189th* and final time this school year, never to return to my school. Grad school calls, and I can't say I'm not looking forward to returning to life from the other side of the teacher's podium. I'd thought for months about what this particular drive would feel like, and was surprised to find myself in a more somber and reflective mood than I'd anticipated. As I drove, I considered that I'd spent the better part of two years trying to impart knowledge to a bunch of 9- and 10-year olds, and had rarely considered what I'd learned from them.

I realized that they are probably a lot sweeter than I typically give them credit for, especially in this blog. So much of their outward hostility and aggression to me is really just a defense mechanism; a hardened approach likely crafted from a childhood's worth of betrayal from other adults. On the first day after standardized testing ended, I brought in the movie "Finding Nemo" to watch with the kids. "I ain't watchin that!" Jermica had sniffed. "That's a kid's movie!" Undeterred, I popped in the DVD, and was startled to see Jermica quietly crying at the film's conclusion, when little Nemo was finally reunited with his father.

I discovered that they are also extremely difficult to impress, and that the humility that this engenders in their teachers is definitely a good thing. They don't care where you've been in the world, or what college you attended, or how fast you ran in your 10k race. Throughout this school year, I'd taken a former student named Daivion to a local driving range about once a week after school, in an effort to serve as a positive role model and hopefully teach him a little about golf in the process. This spring, Daivion was watching as I knocked a ball into the cup from nearly 150 yards away. It was a miraculous shot, one that would probably have had me shouting expletives in celebration and ordering drinks for everyone in the clubhouse, were I not so intent on being a good mentor. I extended an outstretched palm to Daivion, who looked at it incredulously. "Isn't that just what you're supposed to do?" he shrugged, before resuming his practice.

My classroom is empty now. The faded photos of my family's dog I'd kept posted behind my desk, the Hannah Montana valentine I received from N'Dea, and even the old classroom aquarium have all been thrown away. I wrote in my first post that the point of this blog was not to glorify the teaching profession, but find myself writing in my last post that there may be no job which enables you to learn more about yourself than teaching. It's been exhilarating and demanding, frustrating and enlightening. You should try it sometime. 

*Teachers tend to count these kind of things.