As They Pursue Their Dreams. . . to the THS Class of 2017
As you may know by now (and as the other members of the Thomson High School ELA department and my co-teachers are tired of hearing), my last active day as a public school teacher is Wednesday, May 24, 2017. I’m retiring for any number of reasons: high-stakes testing, excessive bureaucracy, and just an all-around educational philosophy that differs from mine. (My mantra: “You can’t quantify teaching.”) I have to admit, though, that the timing for leaving THS is actually pretty appropriate because I’m going out with the Class of 2017, and being there without them next year would be awfully strange. These students have been a huge part of my life at THS. . . and even though the journey with them hasn’t always been a perfect one, life wouldn’t be the same without them if I were staying.
If I counted the names on the program accurately, 216
students received diplomas at graduation last night. Of those 216, I’ve either taught, coached in
speech/debate/literary events, or both 155 of them. . . and I’ve taught,
coached, or both 57 of them for two years. . . and 17 of them and I have spent
all three years with as teacher, coach, or both. Throughout those three years, we’ve all
learned some things....
I’ve
taught – or tried to teach, as the case may be – them about when to use ser
versus estar, how writing an introduction to a paper is like wading into a
swimming pool, what five traits define American Romanticism, how to perform a
duo interpretation without looking at or touching one another, what Kate Bush’s
musical interpretation of Wuthering
Heights looks and sounds like, how Frida Kahlo survived (although not painlessly)
a bus accident, how songs chosen by your middle-aged English teacher can give
you life at the beginning of lit class (those are a student’s words about my
choices, not mine), why it really is important to read the exemplar the teacher
has posted when you’re doing a literary analysis of a Shakespeare play. . . the
list goes on.
They’ve
taught me about why the PC mute button works so much better for “censoring” a
video clip while you’re being observed than does the pause button, why it was a
bad idea for me to use the word “explain” in a sentence directed toward a
student if I didn’t want said student to get Gibbs-slapped in the middle of
class, how certain students behave so much better in class when I seat them
right in front of my desk. . . some because it gets them away from bad
influences and others because they’re perfectly content getting their talking
fixes by chatting (or trying to) with me, how it’s just impossible to get mad
at some kids even when they’re trying to copy someone else’s paper or eat food
out of their book bags right in front of you, that it’s always a good idea to
look carefully at the ID around a student’s neck to make sure that it’s his
own. . . and that the process of getting the correct IDs back to the correct
owners can take quite a lot of leg work and still land the original offender in
the media center getting a temporary, how easy it is to get a class of thirteen
girls and one boy all in their feelings when you discuss certain topics in AP
Lit (well, not so much the one boy), why geography probably should still be a
required course in our schools (while on a speech/debate team trip: “Mrs.
Robinson is kidnapping us and taking us to Florida,” “That’s why we’re headed north”).
. . the list goes on.
They’ve
listened – or at least heard – when I’ve come up with a million analogies (or
just random stories) about my children.
I’ve listened to them when they’ve talked about their siblings, their
cousins, their godchildren. . . and yes, even their own children. They’ve listened – or at least heard – when I’ve
admonished them for their talking, their improper uses of technology, their
lack of effort when they ‘ve needed to be trying harder. . . and on the less
numerous occasions when I praised them for being quiet and staying on task and
for working extremely hard on projects and papers. Unfortunately, I think I’m much freer with
the former sometimes than I am the latter. . . not because I’m highly critical
but because I want to focus on the ways in which they need to improve.
And I’ve
been listening over the past month or so as the school year came to a close as
some of them, in their own ways, said “goodbye” and “thank you.” Some did it by writing letters to me in other
teachers’ classes. . . one came from a relatively quiet girl who I knew liked
having me as a teacher but on whom I had no idea I’d made the impact that I had
until I read her letter, and another came from one of my three-year students
who I quite honestly thought didn’t really like me that much. Some did it by giving me graduation
invitations with their pictures on them (one of my students from last year told
me that he was giving them to “all my favorite teachers.”) Some did it simply by coming by to give me a
hug. . . or to sit in my computer desk chair one last time. Some did it with notes, cards, and simple but
sweet gifts. . . such as a Coke with the “Share a Coke with a friend” message
on it or a piece of artwork with the inscription “Thank you for being amazing!”
on the back. (For the record, if a
teacher has had an impact on your life, tell him or her. Never believe that it won’t matter, or that
they hear it all the time, or that it won’t mean anything coming from you. It will, and they probably don’t, and it will
mean EVERYTHING coming from you. And
adults, it’s too late only when your former teacher is dead. While he or she is still breathing, say it. .
. it NEVER gets old.)
“Thank
you for being amazing”. . . it’s a message that I wish I knew how to express
myself to individual students. I did it
anonymously a couple of times this year by nominating two of them for our
quarterly courage awards. . . one because I’d seen how he’d overcome getting
himself into academic trouble early in his high school days and turned it
around so completely to be one of my best students both in terms of grades and
behavior over the past two years and the other because I’d seen him persevere
through countless injuries (so many that I actually referred to him as “a
walking MASH unit”) and reasons to quit playing sports without ever giving
up. There are so many things that I have
admired about so many of these students: the ones who did their work and stayed
on top of things when literally no one else in the class did (even if that
meant handing in a homework assignment after the bell rang because he didn’t
want to call attention to the fact that he was the only one who did it), did
not let teen motherhood get in the way of their getting their high school
diplomas, took an insane number of AP courses on Georgia Virtual School in
order to take on the most rigorous academic loads possible, worked countless
hours at multiple jobs outside school but somehow still managed to make it the
next day and do what it took to pass no matter how tired they were, read every
word of my seeming endless feedback on AP essays and worked hard to become much
stronger writers by May than they were in August, reached out for help when
everything thing seemed to suggest that they needed to drop out of school and
were able to walk across the stage and get that diploma on May 19, took a
dramatic interp piece that I handed them MUCH too close to the competition date
and worked tirelessly on their own to make it competition-ready on time, overcame
the most horrific of life incidents and managed to keep smiling and trying and
affirming those around them as they grew into young adults who triumphed over
that past, quietly did everything they were asked to do and took care of their
business without ever seeming to worry about whether their efforts and they
were noticed. . . even if I never told you, I noticed. I wish I had the time to tell each one of
them individually about the good I’ve seen in them and the things they’ve done
that have indeed amazed me because I have a feeling most of them don’t know
that any more than I knew that the student who I didn’t think even liked me
thought of me as one of her favorite teachers.
So, if
you’re a member of the THS Class of 2017 and you’ve made it this far (and if
anyone knows how much some of you don’t like to read, I do): in absence of an
individual letter, this will have to do.
I truly do love each and every one of you – although we both know that
there were moments that I didn’t like the things some of you were doing – and I
wish you the very best as you pursue life after high school. I know that I will never see some of you
again, a thought that truly does make me sad, but I hope that I’ll be able to
hear about what you’re doing and where you’re going in your adult lives. Make the most of the many gifts that God has
given you, and never settle for less than what you deserve either personally or
professionally. Take the lessons that
you’ve learned about what to do – and what not to do – and make the positive
impact on the world that I know you can make.
And as I
go forth on my new journey, I’ll take a piece of you with me.
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