This happens every year.
Every year, sometime in the second semester, I step back and look at my classroom and think, "Wow. This is my job. I get paid to do this. I teach over 100 kids each year, and I actually like most of them." This thought is usually accompanied by a stinging feeling in my eyes, one I quickly suppress. Gotta save that for the end of the year when I give them their letter ;)
This past week was one full of moments like this.
Like when my fifth block was in a heated argument about the real purpose of James Russell Lowell's poem "The First Snowfall" and couldn't agree on which rhetorical verb to put in their thesis statement. This really happened. If you'd told me that in September, I wouldn't have believed you.
And when my usually quiet (silent) first block wrote poems and shared them with the class. Some kids even rapped them or danced while reciting them, for extra credit. The poems even included, without my prompting, figurative language and alliteration and imagery, and I found myself raising my eyebrows because a few of them were so insightful, creative, revealing, full of personality.
And when a kid decides he wants to create a handshake with me. Um, ok...does that make me cool?
And when a favorite former student decides to give up his Saturday morning to meet you for breakfast, and you realize that your suspicions that he would grow into a fine young man have been confirmed.
And when I got to see two former students compete in the state track meet. Both of them gave me sweaty side hugs and smiles, and it warmed my heart.
And when I got to witness one of my other favorite former students working a charity event and helping to raise over $20,000 for cancer research.
How is this my life? I have the privilege of not only knowing such fabulous young people but also being their teacher and mentor. It's knock-the-wind-out-of-me humbling to think about.
I know that I'm touching lives with my work as a teacher, but what my students may not realize is they're touching mine, too.
