Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye to students at the end of the year is one of the most bittersweet feelings I believe a teacher experiences in his/her career. In one respect, it is one of the best days of the year because summer is staring you in the face. You have lived through the sarcastic "genius" who loves to ask questions and point out every time you make a mistake, you have improved a little bit on your craft, and you've even managed to save a few Expo markers to put back and use for next year! As my students crowd around to sign the scrapbook I have to encourage or harass them to write in, I always feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. I can't help but relive the pride I felt when the boy on the front row completed his research paper all by himself; I smile to myself as I think about the young girl who finally decided to trust me after months I spent trying to convince her I was worthy. I thought I couldn't wait until summer to arrive. But now I just need a few more minutes so I don't forget them. Their youthful laughs and silly questions and special faces. But I'll see them next year if I'm lucky. We'll say goodbye for two months and the ones who always surprise me will come back to see me in the fall.

Even though I'm just finishing my second year, I've been forced to accept that sometimes in teaching you are forced to say goodbye to students forever. You lose them. And your heart stops and you feel a sickness deep down in the pit of your gut that you thought was reserved for family. The phrase, "He was my kid" pops in your mind...even as your heart breaks for the parents who you know actually raised him. But you invested something in him for months, and he crept in your heart in a way you didn't realize. And you mourn for this loss because in all the months you dreamt of all he could be, you believed he would eventually get there. Yet it will never be.

As a teacher, I've started the past two Augusts feeling as if the balloon inside me has been deflated. Summer is over and so is my fun. I'm excited with anticipation during workdays, but as soon as the first week begins, nerves and exhaustion take over and they last until practically December, it seems. After December, I finally get to know "my kids" and my balloon starts to inflate again.

With our school trying to bounce back from a broken summer 0f losing two of its own, I feel like I need to make sure my balloon is inflated before school even starts so I can start loving my kids earlier this year. That's why I'm there, after all. And while they're in my classroom, I'll make sure they know how much they're cared for. That way when the goodbyes come, I'll be certain they'll remember it.