I originally began this blog in order to write about my life as a teacher. But as it turns out, there wasn’t much time or desire to type a blog after teaching all day, grading essays and tests, preparing for the next day, and well you get the idea.
I guess now, since it’s too late to update about things a long the way, I’ll just reflect. Yesterday, I spent my last actual teaching day sick. This is the second time I’ve been sick the day before a break. It’s a lot harder to enjoy the company of your students and celebrate the upcoming break when all you want to do is sleep. This was a day I had been looking forward to, yet couldn’t enjoy it.
Well, that’s beside the point. For weeks and probably even months now, I’ve been thinking and working towards this last day… Friday… May… 28. I’ve been excited, relieved, happy… every good emotion in the book. Then it hit me. A couple days ago, a new emotion sneaked its way into my heart. I realized that this first year is over… like over over. Now I know a couple sentences ago this was reason for celebration, but all the things that come with “over” flooded my brain in a second. “Over” means unable to be redone. “Over” means I’ll never see some of these kids again. “Over” means there’s no time to fix things. “Over” means – time up. Any mistakes I made my first year teaching were officially set it stone – no making them up. Each student has there opinion of me, and whatever it was this last week of school, won’t possibly change until August. Some of the students aren’t coming back. Have I completely failed them? Did my life do any impacting at all? Are they going to be prepared for the next grade? Are they leaving my class knowing less than when they came in? Fears, worries, anxieties began taking over my being in an instant. I suddenly remembered all the times my patience ran away and my 5 year old habits came back when the students wouldn’t listen to me. Their final exam – everything they should have learned in my class right there on paper – 4-5 sheets of paper. My year of sweat, blood, and tears, right there summed up in the form of something scary to all who make them, take them, and grade them.
Then, after the happiness came and went and the worry came and went – I had a moment to just think. The noise my emotions were making was gone. The noise my surroundings were making was gone. There I was, sitting in my classroom alone and in silence. I then vowed to accept my first year mistakes and learn from them and to come back better in August.
It is now my goal to pray for each and every one of my students this summer. I will pray that God will send somebody to right the wrongs I may have made, and that the little good I possibly could have given to them will grow to something great. I will genuinely miss my students.
Sounds like the reflections of a wise teacher. I have had the same thoughts after every year since I have taught. Sometimes you never know this side of eternity the impact that you have had.
I reflect all the mistakes I have made over the years, but then I remember the good times that I have had, the defining moments in my teaching career. I have learned as much (if not more) from my students than they have from me. I remember the Hannahs, the Davids, and the Halies I’ve taught, and hope that I had an eternal impact in their lives for God. I think about my Kelvins, Valeries, and Marias that come from tough situations, but God can use them, too. And it feels very satisfying. I know I’ve given the best I had to give, and God will do the rest.
Comment by Lydia Bozeman — May 29, 2010 @ 4:16 pm |