In just a matter of days, this school year will be coming to a close. As our traditional custom, I will be walking out with my last class to the bus loop, joining other teachers and staff as we bid all of our students a farewell for summer.
Those who will be moving on or transferring to another school will most likely be crying, along with a few, even though returning next year, who will also be expressing sorrowful tears, filled with worry and wonder as to what to do in the next few months without us. We will embrace every emotion or lack of until the final student is seen leaving the campus. And then, there will be this moment where teachers and staff members turn to each other, exhale, and with or without words, will have conveyed to one another with satisfying relief, “We did it!” (Again.)
If I was to say, “I don’t know how I made it to the end of this school year”, I would be a liar. I was determined to finish strong just like any other year. However, if I were to say that I did not have thoughts that this might very well have been my last year, I would be just as a liar. This year created itself to be a special one.
Returning back to the classroom with students, following remote learning due to COVID restrictions, I will say that this school year marks as a uniquely memorable one for me if not for all of us teachers.
I think back now to all those years where I had been blessed with nearly a perfect setup for success. Students came in to learn and any outside-of-school disruptions were at minimal level. Parental backup and support were most accessible, with conversations and focus centrally on academic success for their child.
This year was different. I am reminded of my Papa sharing with me how confused he was one day to not have his graded math test paper back on his desk like every one of his classmates only to look up and see that his paper had been displayed on the board as an exemplary piece for all to see. This may not be extraordinarily impressive to note until he reminded me that he had gone from being in third grade before World War II erupted to sixth grade following its end. All of a sudden, I envisioned what once was just a small school boy to a much growing young boy who had to somehow academically fast-forward. Excelling and getting recognition following years without school must have felt pretty special.
My Papa’s story served as a reminder in my heart throughout this year that students were coming in with setbacks, involuntarily subjected to altered learning during the pandemic. Any recognition, sadly, whether good or not so good, would be enough to suffice the need for some form of validation. Many students, in more ways than one, did just that.
When you come into a school year, you withhold the feeling of excitement to once again have a new set of eyes, averaging around twenty-five in number within each class period, looking up at you for the first time. You remind yourself that the impression you give will set the tone for the year. After all, children are the greatest readers of who you really are versus who you think they see.
This year, the eyes weren’t just looking with reciprocated excitement. While there were relatively the same number of eyes per period, there were more to sense from each eyes than just the jitters of school commencing. There was so much more; there was roughly two years in hiding so much more. And as the days and weeks went on by, so did all that had been sadly present and absent in their lives from going to school to being forced to stay home and then, to return back to school to just pick-up where they left off.
From lack of emotion, practically catatonic, to those well aware that they were back, but looking just as lost as if school was from a long past, one notice was clearly evident- they had setbacks not just in the mind, but also, in heart and spirit. Students had gone from two grades behind to a new grade, each fast-forwarded into. With no clear walk-through of what had been missed, there had to also be grievous account for those who already had been two to three grades behind before the pandemic. Anticipation and anxiety intermixed with apathy to return back to the “norm” could be felt, one class after to follow, one period at a time, one day after the next, one month after another.
Funny how in times of challenges and struggles, greatest reflections can be made, however. There was absolutely no time to grieve. And when you take into account the shortage of substitutes to cover classes of teachers who took days of absence, literally, there was no time for any self-pitying in the push to just go and run a sprint each day within the marathon you knew you were in for the year.
While I may have been the teacher my students had to see at least once a day, I could only ascertain gradual levels of learning improvement through assessments. Whether they heard my endless beliefs of their potential or will remember my moments of laughter, praises, or pats on the back I managed to interject between the intermittent tardies, need for pencils and paper, or spews of unwarranted emotional outbursts and countless anxiety episodes, I, with peaceful gratitude, know one thing for certain- it was I who was learning the most from the early day I would enter my room to turn on the lights each morning to the moment I would put up the agenda for the next day before I left.
I have given myself more (countless) moments of time to reflect this year than in any other years I have taught.
Patience
Just as soon as students first walked in I could feel there would need to be work done to help remind each of classroom expectations. This year, however, I soon came to embrace the need for students to be reminded to establish the habit of not just getting your essential learning materials out such as a pencil, spiral notebook for taking notes, and workbook, but to remember to bring each daily with their actual body seated at their seat, on time, and ready to begin engaging in learning at the bell. From Day 1 to the last day of the year in just a few days, there are still some who are “a work in progress”. Some magnificent masterpiece just take longer than a school year to build. Patience at a virtue to the fullest.
Tolerance
Building a trust and relationship between a student and teacher is crucial before even getting to the learning. Very early in the year, I had a classroom period moment which led to me calling the office to have a student exited into the office until I call home and talk to him after class was dismissed. A simple talk about the importance of getting to class on time led to this student surprising me with a verbal challenge. I immediately understood inside of me that the conversation was no longer about being tardy at all, but a means to veer away from the matter and redirect the situation toward me as his peers sat in silent wait for class to continue from where we were before he had walked in. Once I felt that he was putting a show for his peers, it was time to deescalate and decompress. Checking in with the student soon after class had been dismissed before starting another gave me the eyes of a regretful student. I saw that he and I were no longer going to repeat what had just happened. Trust that I cared for his well-being had been established. Reinforcement for the year would be the only part still to work on, one day at a time. Sometimes tolerance got tested to get the message of expectations. I tolerated the need to repeat the expectations. The expectations did not change.
Empathy
This sounds crazy, but I see myself in every child. If I can keep with this mindset, I can feel their emotions, read their thoughts, and understand motive of their actions. The loudness usually means trying to tune out the noise from within the student is trying to silence. The silence usually means, “Please ask me how I’m doing or just say ‘hello’ to me so I know you see me”. The loud outburst of a laughter is simply a remedy of any awkward feelings or thoughts. The frustrations, whether implosive or explosive, are a cry for soft words to be whispered to them as a question, “Is everything okay?” Expectedly, you prepare for a ventilation of the heart and spirit as they blurt out, most of the times if not all the time, rampantly, as to why everything is not okay. And to remedy the soul that may have felt alone, you say, “I’m sorry. It’ll be okay. Hang in there.” And sometimes when that is countered with a challenge of, “No. It’s not okay!”, you preparedly respond back with, “It is a good thing that you are strong and capable. The power is within you to control yourself.” You plant that seed. You water it. You hope for peace to grow. You remind yourself such raw emotions you yourself have felt. You hope silently you’ve convinced the student you understand. Empathy that sends the message they are not alone.
Understanding
I believe it was the third day of school. I was in the midst of instruction right at the commencement of first period when my eye caught movement just outside my door. I took note of someone seemingly just sitting on the embankment. As I peeked out, I was a bit confused as to why I was correct. At first, my thoughts were that it had been a parent having difficulty to leave, not sure of when to depart from their child. Even at a middle school level, this does happen- seldom times, but it does happen. To discover one of my students just sitting there, eating in peace bemused me. And that is exactly what this student was doing. He was eating, calmly, with no gesture to suggest having any desire to come in. When asked what he was still doing, sitting outside, the student calmly explained they were waiting to finish their food before going in. I took a moment to process. Thankfully, digging deep into my heart and mind, I found understanding that he didn’t want to be rude and thus, his decision to stay outside was legitimate. Thankfully, I remembered that back in virtual learning, students did not eat over their computers nor entered the “room” eating at all. If I had completely forgotten this piece of recall, I may have reacted differently to this child who thought nothing wrong of his choice or actions.
Forgiveness
The things students blurted out this year were as simple as a nervous giggle to an outwardly profane expression. I had to remind myself that words were just expressions from within and didn’t have meaning until given one. Otherwise, I could have easily seen myself immediately feel repulsed from the sometimes minor to greatly explicit jargon coming out of students’ mouths. Silence was the best remedy, giving a student time to catch their thoughts, to process the very words that had come out of their mouths. And, whether truly or not genuine, they apologized. Sometimes, there would be a student repetitively apologizing to a point where you were driven to state that being “sorry” actually means having the actionable desire to never repeat the act again.
I said “sorry” a lot more this year myself. No. Not that I felt it was always my fault. I needed to take down the walls first under the watching eyes of my students. I found that by saying “sorry” first, I felt confident that they would pick up on the empowerment I was giving them- to be the first to forgive. Letting go had to have been a lesson for all of us. Leading the way for all eyes and ears provided the modeling for just seeking peace instead of war.
I may be crazy for thinking or feeling this, but… I’m going to miss these set of kids just as equally as I’m going to worry how they will carry themselves through in the near future years they each will face. Do I want a repeat of this year? No. Absolutely not. Would I take the same students one more year just so I had a little more time to mold them into the right direction? This is when that curse of caring kicks in and I hear myself utter, “Yes. I would.”
I am closing up to prepare for another school year, another group of eyes to look up at me, one period at a time. I’ll be ready. Until then, give me this summer I have so earned. No hesitation to feel any guilt at all, whatsoever. This marathon has been run, one sprint at a time. My tense muscles must now relax. My spirit must recover and rebuild to the fullest. My heart must be ready to be filled with joy once again, recovering from the spears and daggers that shot in some poison. My mind must reset to teach the curriculum I am to pace with once more.
Parents and guardians, your children were safe with me. I held onto them from the beginning to the finish. I must rest just a bit before more come my way.
Like all teachers, I must now breathe. Just a little while. I breathe.
