Welcome to the future

Dear Second-Years, 

You have arrived. I must say that I am a bit jealous of you. How many times have I fast-forwarded in my mind to next year when I will be standing in your shoes? By that time, I think I will be able to call my experience "rewarding." A little bit into the school year, I began to think of a "rewarding experience" as one that can be downright miserable when you're going through it, but after it's done you can look back on it and feel like you did right in some way. 

I’ve had many countdowns this year. The number of days before Fall Break, Christmas Break, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, Spring Break, Easter, SUMMER. The weekly count to Friday. The hourly count to the end of the school day. I’m greedy for hours and days out of school, and I find myself wishing away time. This is a strange feeling for someone like me who is a moment savorer. I’m not accustomed to pushing, hauling, cajoling, charging myself through the present so I can just make it to the next evening at home or the next weekend. I’m not used to living for the future. In the past nine weeks, however, I've somehow lived myself back into the present. These things have struck me recently: the joy of being on my back porch in the afternoons with blooming roses, the small pleasure in driving to school when it is light outside, the relief in surrendering to my bed at the end of the day, the acceptance (finally) of keeping a regular bedtime, my ability to leave stressful days with little emotional wear, the moments when I am able to let down my guard and laugh with my students. These things keep me in the present.

I remember meeting some of you for the first time last summer at Northgate. We were gathering for an Old Venice excursion. Something about all of you made me feel very young, and it had nothing to do with age. I was a bit awestruck by your classroom stories and the mental image of you in command of a classroom. Even if you did it poorly, it didn’t matter to me; you were there, and you had those battles. You had kids verbally spit in your face, and you dealt with it. You found your way through a curriculum. You knew the names and faces of, say, 130 children, and you knew how to talk like them. How well you knew how to talk like them impressed me the most. It seemed like so much stood between what you were and what I needed to become. 

This weekend you graduate, and I become a second-year. So much stands between who I was last summer and who I am now. 

It’s funny how our lives have converged briefly in this strange place for a common purpose. Most of us will probably never talk again, but we share this intense and intimate experience.

Elise, one thing that really stands in my mind from last summer is hearing you and Annah talk about your students. As a newcomer to teacher talk, I was amazed by how much they drove your conversations. But it was more than mere teacher talk. I saw your genuine investment in your students. I admired how much you cared for them and how well you seemed to know their interests and motivations. I wonder which students I will obsess over once the school year ends. Of course I was also wowed by your ideas for engaging kids in the classroom and your helpful, specific advice. Thank you.

Second years, I respect the work you have done, and I wish you well on whatever adventure grips you next. 

Peace, 

Catherine