"Things I wonder..."
I am tired of complaining.
A couple of days ago, I had the opportunity to go to school to pass out the Yearbooks my staff has worked so hard on all year. All day, I stood out in the sun, under a shade passing out yearbooks to all cars driving by, seeing kids, talking to kids, saying goodbye to kids, and getting some sense of closure.
And, honestly, I have not been more grateful for anything else in a long time.
Who would have known that seeing the kids and sending them off for summer was the only essence of closure that I really needed? Even after writing and mailing letters and gifts and bracelets, the closure was barely there.
Even still, I suppose the door isn't all the way closed.
Besides all that, I got a few gifts. Some Takis, Hot Cheetos as per usual. More than that, though, I was given a journal, completely filled out by a student from before Spring Break and through quarantine.
The goal of that journal? To help me remember that I am a great teacher.
All year this student wrote about me, my teaching, and why I should never doubt my ability to be successful as a teacher. It contained observations, personal stories, and thought-provoking ideas.
My first thought? I don't deserve this.
My second thought? Wow...
Middle schoolers always find more ways to surprise me.
In this journal was one page titled: "Things I wonder..."
And I want to embrace the wonder.
Did you stay in touch with your friends after middle and high school after you graduated?
Well, in order to stay in touch with friends, you have to have friends. Now, I didn't go through high school and middle completely alone, but it felt like it sometimes.
Because I don't know that I had a friend I could go to. You know? Be real with.
And I still don't, really.
Because I push people away.
I stay in touch, though, with those I pushed away. I like their Instagram posts; we are friends on Facebook. It's a sort of friendship-from-a-distance.
I barely tried. I always thought that people would stay in touch if I mattered or was worth it. I wasn't truly close enough with any of those people to make it worth it.
Some people stay in touch.
Did I? Nope.
Why do you make suicide jokes?
This one hurts. It's one thing I know I shouldn't be doing as a teacher, and, yet, here we are.
I guess I have two answers:
1.) Millenial humor relies on dark and immense levels of self-deprecation.
2). Sometimes, I'm not joking.
Teaching is hard, and, at the end of the day, it's hard to see why all the work I do for kids is worth it. So some days, you really do get kind of dark and twisty.
At least I do. And, in my life, it hasn't only been because of teaching.
This feels like taboo; "sometimes I'm not joking" basically equates to, "Yes, I have had thoughts about suicide."
Society has trained me since I was kid that we shouldn't joke about suicide while simultaneously raising me in a culture where it's normalized - funny, even - to say things like: "I'm going to off myself if I don't pass this test."
Hyperbole and metaphor truly undermine the humor of my and my students' generations.
I know that I don't make these jokes around colleagues - most of which who are in the generation above my own. I know they don't get it or that I am not being serious.
"Wow, I've had a hard day, time to drink some bleach."
"Need anything?"
"Yes, a will to live."
"That makes me want to rip my own eyes out."
And, let me clarify, I don't sit in front of a room full of students and shout jokes like this. They happen in small groups, towards the end of the day, in subtle conversations, in whispers under my breath.
"Don't worry. It was just a joke." Students say that a lot, too.
You know what's interesting, though? Students know when it's serious, when we shouldn't joke about it, when it's triggering. And then the jokes stop, and we have conversations.
They hold me and others accountable for taking it seriously.
When these aren't just jokes, they are cries for help.
When these aren't just jokes, conversations are started.
When these aren't just jokes, we don't always know.
When these aren't just jokes for me, I realize one thing: these kids rely on me.
So, during the dark and twisty times, I think of them.
All of them.
Because they are the only reason I sometimes feel strong enough to keep moving forward - in face of whatever. And, suddenly, the dark and twisty times don't last very long.
These kids quite literally save my life.
Every single day.
So, why do I joke about suicide? I don't know... but I can be held accountable for doing so whether it's wrong to do so or not.
And I am trying to do and be better.
And maybe if I try to do and be better, I can tell when they aren't just jokes.
And maybe if I try to do and be better, I can help students tell when they aren't just jokes.
Because that's the line, isn't it? Knowing when it's a joke and when it's not? Maybe that's where this wonder came from: not knowing the line.
Worry.
Why, then, do any of us make jokes?
Why do you like The Perks of Being a Wallflower?
This is one of my favorite books, and I love it because I see myself in it.
The only thing worth teaching about in English is that all literature is a reflection of life. And, in Charlie, the main character of this novel, I see myself.
This books sheds a lot of light on parts of me I still have yet to understand.
What is your favorite book that has made an impact on you?
The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway.
The only thing that happens in this book is a bunch of ex-soldiers and their significant others wander around Europe, drinking wine at all hours of the day. There's also some bullfighting later on. Lots of romance.
It's understated, though. On the surface nothing really happens. It took me many years to truly understand this story - if I can say I really understand it now.
Even on my first read, the last line truly changed my perspective on life: "Isn't it pretty to think so?"
To me, the comfort that we can think of all the "could haves" in this world comforts me.
None of it may come to be, but it's pretty to think that it could.
That beauty gives me hope.
And, when things get dark and twisty, I can look down on my arm and see those words embedded into me forever.
Even when things don't go the way we want, we have the beauty to think about all that could be.
Even when we wish for something with our whole heart, the beauty lies in the stories we can tell ourselves.
How do you deal with the death of a loved one?
I don't know the answer to this. I have not lost lots of loved ones.
So, to say how I deal with that is foreign to me.
I wish I knew, though. I suppose everyone, at the end of it all, will also deal with it differently.
To me, maybe it's just pretty to think of all that could have been and all that was. That would get me through it.
Maybe.
Are you coaching Speech and Debate next year?
I want nothing else out of my new school year other than to have the ability to coach this wonderful group of students again.
It seems as though it's the only consistency moving into next year.
I c r e a t e d this team, this wonderfully-confused, overworked, complete meme of a team.
There's no way I will ever, ever give that up. And maybe, in some ways, that's been one of the hardest parts of all the teaching lately.
In my second year as a real coach, I had three students qualify for State. It was cancelled.
I have one who has qualified for Nationals in June. For a minute, I get to be a coach again and return to some sense of normalcy.
Next year, I cannot wait to return to this sense of normalcy; normalcy is all anyone has carved this year.
So, yes. I will be coaching.
For as long as I possibly can.
What do you notice about all these questions?
They aren't academic. With the exception of maybe one, the things students wonder about aren't grammar, science, math, technology: it's life.
If I have learned one thing from this wonderful gift of a journal and from what thanks I have heard from students in the past few days, they don't care that I taught them about English.
They care that I taught them about life.
They wonder about how to deal with life.
And, that's why I am answering these wonderings.
Because, to me, it provides a sense of worth, a sense of purpose, and a sense of excitement for what's to come.
Online learning was never about teaching and assigning students the work to make sure they "have all the content."
We talked too much about that for my tastes.
Online learning has always been about the student - helping them learn how to deal with the world as it stands.
These wonderings are not only proof of that, but they give me a new outlook on where to go from here.
And they are helping me move forward into what will be a more different start to school than ever.
It's officially summer.
Next year, I will not return to my classroom. I will not be teaching English.
I will have my own department, my own space, and a pure reliance on my strongest attribute as a teacher: the ability to teach and address L I F E.
At the end of all that has happened this year to me and to the entire world, this is what matters.
And, whatever comes in the Fall, I cannot wait to begin my new journey as a teacher who gets to help students directly with what I have been helping students with all along: how to be successful people.
Because that's what they wonder about. And those wonderings are my standards, my experiences, and their learning.
This year has massive potential for some redemption.
And, I suppose, this feels like closure...wondering.
Isn't it pretty?
Thank you for the gift.
