Dear Student X,
I really do understand. Life is hard, unfair, and you hate the cards you’ve been dealt. Nothing is like it’s supposed to be or is portrayed on reality television. The guy doesn’t always get the girl, the single mother doesn’t win the lottery and have an easier life for herself and her baby, and the inheritance check isn’t always handed over to the deserving heir.
What I’m trying to say is that I understand. I sympathize. Hell. I empathize because I’ve known hard times myself. You have, however, still had a very hard life. You’re being raised in a foster home and that must be hard. Once, when I was inquiring about you, I learned that you’re the eldest of a large family and have many siblings who are scattered all over and being raised by lots of different people. Those are things I don’t even comprehend and your feelings of abandonment must be intense.
When I saw you as a mere 6th grader, though, I liked you instantly because you had a spunk that I admire and you are a leader whether you want to be or not. That’s quite a gift and one that comes with much responsibility. It’s taken me three whole years to get you to even recognize it, but I don’t think I convinced you that you could use it to your advantage and be positive with it. For that, I feel that I failed you. Still, you were always happy to see me and greeted me by name even when you were having a bad day.
So your final send off on the last day of school puzzles me.
As soon as I witnessed your behavior leaving school I was upset. Angry at you, even. The flood of time I spent with you seemed to calculate itself in my brain and I realized that the effort was enormous. But I’m not mad about that, so please don’t worry. It’s what I do and I like participating in the lives of students. Of children. Of growing adolescents who are figuring out who they are in life, on this planet. You’re not the first student I’ve cried over and you won’t be the last. Maybe those are the wrong words: I don’t just cry over you kids. I mourn for you and weep sorrowful tears for all the things I cannot change in your lives.
Then I remembered the time I gave you a book and your cherished it and my heart began to forgive you because the joy in that act was immeasurable. Normally I just tell students how much a book means to me and they want to read it. But you? You kept it in a plastic bag and clutched it to your chest and stopped me every time you saw me in the hallway to tell me how it was changing your life. I believed you.
Every time I saw you in the discipline office I gave you my Disappointed Face. I’ve been perfecting that since I began teaching 13 years ago and, I’ll admit, I’m pretty good at it! If I can see a speck of guilt in a student because they’ve dismayed me, then I know I’m striking at the heart. Yay! I’m a successful teacher!
Except this isn’t about me. Or is it? Isn’t this about the effort and energy I’ve put into you? Isn’t this about how hard I tried to build you up, smile sweetly and show you kindness? Being kind doesn’t cost me anything, so I willingly give it away. Like an obedient child, you complied and smiled through all the pain you wade through every single day.
Every day. It’s long, this life. I’m sure that’s how you feel, right? That it’s taking forever to grow up? Let me impart this to you: it is but a blip, honey. It will be gone far too soon.
But dear, sweet student…I would do it all again. Know this.
The last day of school is usually a big relief for me, but one that I can’t say comes without some sadness for the growth I see in students. Especially when I’ve been watching them for three years. That’s a lot of growth! You’re taller, prettier, and are quite the beanpole these days. I feel like I should have been marking your height on my wall so we could talk about it and take pictures and create a record. Like a mother would. But I know. Don’t cross that line. Just be supportive and caring.
Supportive and caring don’t come with any guarantees that it will be reciprocated. Again. That’s ok. I can’t possibly expect you to do that.
I watched all the kids walk out the door, wish me a nice summer, tell me goodbye. Even some students who I thought didn’t even knew my name. They hugged me and I always hug back because I know how important that human connection is. You see, I have a bit of rebel in me, too: we’re always told not to do that, but I do it anyway. We, you and me, have hugged almost weekly! Let’s see…. 36 weeks of school for three years is at over 100 hugs. I would give them to you all over again.
So your words cut deeply. There was no blood, but it still hurt. Maybe if I hadn’t caught your eye it wouldn’t be so bad, but you saw me looking right at you when you screamed your rant.
Fuck this school and everyone in it! I hate this place! FUCK YOU ALL!
Maybe you’d have been stronger than me to take that, but I couldn’t. You devastated me, shocked me. You disappointed me and Disappointed Face failed to work on you this time. And I’ll never let you know just how many tears I shed after that. Perhaps it was 100 like the hugs. Perhaps not. All I know is that the hardest part of my job is knowing that you needed to reject me and this place first. You needed to be the one who abandoned this time. You needed not to remember how much I’ve cared and loved you and that’s ok.
It’s ok.
It’s really ok. I know. I get it, honey.
This was your safe place and you needed to renounce it. I was your safe person and you needed to disown me. You want to withdraw. So I let you.
Go on and be well and learn lots and try to find peace.
I’ll be here.
Love,
The Teacher
June 7, 2007 @ 5:15 am | Filed under Education | Permalink |
Suebob Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 6:05 am
You are a good teacher. A really, really good teacher. I love how much you care.
Dana Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 6:46 am
Your student reminds me of someone I went to elementary school with. He was very troubled. And it makes me sad that no matter how many teachers loved and cared for him, he rejected that love, and tragically he died very young.
I always cry a little because I wonder what else could have been said or done to “save” this young man. But then again, maybe he didn’t need saving. He had to save himself and he didn’t or couldn’t or something.
This post really struck a chord with me.
Kelly, you are an amazing woman, teacher and mother; even to your students. I admire you.
Ami Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 6:56 am
You see into the hearts of people with such compassion and forgiveness. You are a truly amazing person. If only there were more out there just a little bit like you…
Terry Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 8:21 am
Welcome back. This is the reason I enjoy reading your blog.
Tiggerlane Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 8:45 am
You totally just made me cry. And I love that you are able to retain such a sweet, kind, forgiving spirit with your students, though it would be so much easier to become hardened by all that you’ve seen.
At the end of school this year, I had to make my daughter break up with her boyfriend. Another young man who is a victim of his parents’ (and various stepparents’) poor choices - and whose behavior had just gotten out of line. A good kid inside, a good young man - but left unsupervised and to his own devices, too unstable for us to be his saviour. My daughter and our family was one of the few positive things in his life - but he just couldn’t accept the graciousness…somehow, his past wouldn’t allow him too. It broke my heart to witness his activities that caused us to counsel our child toward breaking up with him - and I cried more than she did for the loss of their relationship.
It’s so difficult to be around children, and know that you can’t save them. You are doing more than most - and the heartbreak you suffer makes me sad. But you are so loving and forgiving - I am incredibly proud and inspired by you.
RWA Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 11:42 am
For some reason, I have the feeling that years from now, this student will track you down and apologize. They will explain just as you said - this was their chance to reject people and an institution.
But, they will realize what you did for them and how much you cared.
I’m sure that must have hurt, but I am certain it won’t stop you from doing the same thing for another student down the road.
Cynthia Samuels Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 1:04 pm
What a beautiful thing! You are so perceptive Kelly. You know, for a couple of years, my older son used to pick a big fight every time he was leaving for camp. It took me so long to realize what you, teacher to the bone, knew instinctively - that he had to untangle. You are a marvel and a teacher to all of us as well as your students.
Bugladynora Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 1:04 pm
Great post!
Leigh Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 2:02 pm
There are no words…..
Lara Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 3:41 pm
oh, mocha. it’s wonderful that you love them so much. i’m sorry she had to hurt you like that, but i think you handled it wonderfully.
Kathy T. Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 8:08 pm
I agree with Cynthia Samuels up above. You are incredibly perceptive to see that deliberate separation. If only all teachers had your heart and kindness. (I know a lot probaly do, but sometimes it seems that many just don’t seem to care.) Anyway, you sure bring honor to the teaching profession.
Yvonne Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 9:41 pm
You know I don’t do so well at serious comments, but I will try. I get this on so many levels. I did this to the teacher I would have willingly gone home with if she had only asked me too. Because leaving her was a wound I couldn’t cope with, and just for once, I had to be the attacker instead of the victim. But that dissapointed look burned to my core and I wanted to lay down and beg for forgiveness. And I cried bitterly for months afterward and mourned her loss in my life.
And 10 years later when I found her one day by accident I had the chance to heal the damage. We sat together for hours in a coffee shop. And as I unfolded my life like an essay for her to view, I watched that look come back to her eyes. And as a mother… I finally understood WHAT the look was. Total, unconditional LOVE.
She had never asked me for more than I could give, had always understood me better than I did, and loved me every day for no reason but that she saw a spark no one else did. She hugged me tightly as she left, and spoke softly to me. “I knew you could do it honey, I always did”.
May the student and the Teacher meet somewhere, sometime and heal the wound. You remind me yet again of just how much of a difference just one good teacher can make in a childs life.
Sorry it’s so long. xoxoxoxoxoxo
Josh Said,
June 7, 2007 @ 11:22 pm
No matter how many times you work with children and go through many different emotions with them…it hurts each and every time rejection hits. It hurts when you feel like you have failed…even with ALL the attempts you make to make a difference in their lives.
I have three in particular from this past year that I worried about. No matter what I tried to say or do, they still wanted to live and act the way they wanted. As I invested time into knowing them and their situations…I just wanted to do whatever I could to help them. It’s tough to let them go knowing they’ll possibly to what they have always done.
I continually pray for my students for protection and guidence. Who better to leave them in the care of than God?
Your story made me think about some of mine.
On a lighter note…congrats on your promotion.
KC Said,
June 8, 2007 @ 4:40 am
Wow… powerful emotions. Beautifully written. May their be healing for the both of you…. and growth. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.
(((hugs)))
KC
J to the Wall Said,
June 8, 2007 @ 5:49 am
I think our training the past 2 days has really gotten to you….
just wait until the fall…oh wait! You are leaving us!!!
Sueb0b Said,
June 8, 2007 @ 6:59 pm
Now Yvonne made me cry, too.
SMC Said,
June 8, 2007 @ 7:19 pm
Oh.My.God.
I will be starting my first year of teaching this fall in an Intervention English class (at age 39!) and I know some of these kids are going to disrupt my psyche. I love when you write about your work because you articulate human thoughts and emotions so beautifully.
MizAngie Said,
June 8, 2007 @ 9:50 pm
Kids like that make me sad. The premise of foster homes is good but the reality of many of them is not good at all. I’ve worked with a lot of kids, trying to will them into being better students, nicer people. I had to accept years ago that I couldn’t save them all. So many take kindness as weakness. I would have been lousy in the classroom working with kids day in and day out. That realllly takes a calling. I’m afraid I would have been leaning out my classroom door with middle finger held high yelling, “Fuck you, too, you little shit!”
Shash Said,
June 9, 2007 @ 9:22 am
I had the same thing happen to me but at the Elementary School level. It was like he needed to have a clean slate because he was going to miss the safety and comfort so much of our class. It was heartbreaking, and I was very hurt, but like you, I understood.
I just hope that for both your student and my student’s sakes that they have someone at their new schools that cherishes and nurtures them too.
Have a great summer, Kel.
Shash
BotchedExperiment Said,
June 11, 2007 @ 9:46 am
Kids is stoopid; they say lots of things they don’t mean. They also say lots of things they think they’re supposed to say, like, “I hate school and all of my teachers.”
Daisy Said,
June 11, 2007 @ 2:12 pm
So true, so sad, so true. Those who need us the most have a hard time saying goodbye, so they become angry. It’s easier to leave someone you’re angry with than someone for whom you care deeply.
Leslie Said,
June 12, 2007 @ 5:15 am
yes, Yes, YES…everyday!
How can we bottle empathy and get ALL of the adults that work with our students to drink???
I believe (strongly) that if EVERY adult that interacts with the children could look at EVERY child with empathetic glasses we would experience far fewer “FUCK YOU”s and far more success.
This issue has been heavy on my mind lately. Can this idea be taught? Can the fear of chaos be alleviated and replaced with confidence and care?
nelle Said,
June 12, 2007 @ 6:54 pm
*hugs*
As I read your conclusion, the thought occurs that sometimes we do such things because we have so little - or no - perceived control over our circumstance. We project outward, and most often do so at those we love the most, those closest, those proudest of us - see me, I’m flawed, and I’m hurting. This student showed you this, you… probably because you were the one who got closest, who did the most, who connected more than any other.
I know that’s not much comfort when our efforts are met with final rebuke, but I’ve a hunch the things you did will one day manifest in other ways. You may never know, but then… maybe you will.
*hugs*
Elizabeth Said,
June 13, 2007 @ 6:07 am
Hopefully she was just having a bad day and was using the last day of school as an excuse to go mental on everyone and get away with it. Considering all that you’ve given this girl I can’t possibly imagine that she directed any of that toward you. Maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when she was being her most defiant.
*hugs*
Big Mike In Oz Said,
June 13, 2007 @ 11:08 pm
I’m 18 months off becoming a high school teacher. I read the whole passage knowing what was coming. I was crying before the end - long before the end. I know I’ll be a good teacher, maybe a great teacher. But there was a little bit of me that wanted to grab that kid and shake them and scream at them that the whole world is only as bad as you choose to let it be.
My world is great because that’s what I choose. I try to share it with everyone I come in contac with, and if I can’t share it with my students I’ll try and sneak some of it into their bag when they’re not looking.
I know this quote isn’t mine, but I can’t remember where it’s from and I’ve used it enough that it may as well be mine.
All it takes for evil to triumph is for enough good people to do nothing. I’m not one of them. I’m doing something.
Everyday.
Missy Said,
June 19, 2007 @ 1:27 am
Beautiful post. This could be THE perfect post.
kapgar Said,
June 19, 2007 @ 5:08 am
Wow. Even if it was just male posturing (sp?), it still hurts. I’m really sorry that happened. It has to take the wind out of your sails and just leave you feeling empty and I hate that this happened to you. I’m so sorry.
Jessica Said,
June 20, 2007 @ 11:19 am
Crap. Now I’m crying. At work. Very uncool and unsupervisory like. I am so sorry that happened, I can’t even imagine. I am glad that you understand where it came from. Doesn’t stop the hurt I imagine but, you can at least try to comprehend it.
On an unrelated note…did you know that Aveda is discontinuing the leave-in conditioner that you mix with the gel…Confixer? Elixor? One of those…go get a big ass bottle stat!
Tricia Said,
June 20, 2007 @ 11:26 am
I find myself trying to reach others when I can’t reach my own…not to mention just trying to save the world in general
Sooo much easier to leave mad than sad-
Christina Said,
June 21, 2007 @ 7:56 pm
So I just got home, after sending my students off on the last day of school, and I could not wait to get in the door so I could pour out all the tears that were welling up inside of me all day long. When I was done with my cry, I began to wonder why Im home bawling while all the other teachers seem to be celebrating. I sought solace at my computer, searching for any other teacher whose heart breaks every year on that last day, just so I know Im not crazy…and I found you!
Thank you. I feel like all year, I have built trust with these kids enough for them to confide all of their horrible secrets in me, have spent countless hours trying to build them up to be resilient in the face of abuse, neglect, gang violence, etc. and now I have no choice but to set them free. Back into their broken homes and sad lives that I now have no control over, no way to keep them safe anymore.
I admire your strength and am glad to know Im not alone! I have watched these kids literally transform like butterflies right before my eyes, from little monsters to awesome students, and now I can only hope the wings I have given them will hold against the storm. Thanks for weathering it with me.
And by the way, this is my first blog experience! I couldn’t have started in a better place. Blog on, people!