Tag: teachers

Six years ago,  on the eve of my retirement, a longtime colleague with whom I had worked thirty years prior on another side of the country, gave me terrific advice. He suggested that on my last day of employment, after everyone else had left the school building, I should walk through the halls and classrooms. Just me.

There is a special feel and smell about any school at the end of a day. One can hear the echoes of footsteps and conversations, laughter and chatter and (sometimes) tears. One can feel the business of classrooms through the paper on the floor, the book left by a half-open locker, a random sweatshirt on a chair.  On the younger levels, whiffs of markers, glue and Essence of Kiddo linger. By middle and high school, add Essence of Boy Who Needs Deodorant mixed with too much cologne and wafts of Teenage Girl. Some rooms are neat and tidy, chairs stacked and all desks clean. Others reflect a more haphazard and last-minute scurry to the end of the day. Some walls are adorned with student work; some are either bare or reflect only decorations perfectly prepared and printed by adults.

Empty classrooms tell administrators as much about what transpires during the day as do full ones. I once worked with a teacher who insisted her students keep their desks and chairs in rows marked by X’s on the floor. Hers was not a space in which youngsters experienced much creativity or joy. Another transformed her classroom into a rainforest each year, assisted by her enthusiastic second graders. Some rooms smell musty, used, loved. Others are spic and span, so sterile they squeak. Every class and hallway is different. All of them are similar. For any teacher, former or current, entering a school evokes memories of legions of students, of colleagues, of good parents – and those who were a challenge. I cannot imagine another profession that could possibly include so many “ghosts.”

I took my last walk, as advised. I took my time. Forty-six years as an educator warranted time. My literal walk was in Incline Village, NV. My memories took me back to Tucson (a school where there were no hallways), to  Denver, to Bethesda, to McLean, to Gahanna, to Malibu, to North Hollywood. Lots of schools. So many students and colleagues. The ghost parade grew as I traveled down corridors and peaked into empty rooms. I could hear laughter, questions, challenges, complaints, more laughter. I could feel the happy jostling of hundreds, thousands of those with whom I had shared my life. They gave me tremendous joy. They made me a better teacher, a better person. I suspect they taught me far more than I taught them.

I returned to my office, picked up my purse and one last box, locked the door behind me, and left. Glad and grateful.

Thirty years ago, I arrived at school in early June to find a note taped to my office door from a young teacher friend. Neither he nor I could be considered young these days, but his words are ageless for anyone who works in a school.

“Certainly the school year doesn’t ‘wind down’ – rather it skids + spins + speeds until, at the height of frenzy, it passes you by, leaving you bamboozled and exhausted from the momentum of its run.”

Experienced or rookie, we tend to think, “This year I will get it right. I will plan better, carve out time, get to that stack of papers earlier.” Somehow that never works. There is no “right,” only a recognition that there will always be too much to do. End-of-year field trips, exams, projects, conferences, celebrations, grading, report cards. A student or colleague will get sick and need your help, possibly extra time. Technology will fail just as you submit your final grades. The extra faculty meeting to discuss awards will be scheduled precisely when you are supposed to meet your spouse’s parents’ arrival. Your own kids will get sick – or break a leg. Alumnae/i who graduated three years ago will show up and want to visit. If  you are a coach, your team might make it to the district finals, requiring unplanned weeks of additional training and events.  If you work in middle or high school, at least one student will make some bozo choice that requires the Disciplinary Committee to meet. Someone will break down in tears at the end of class or in your office, and you will spend hours then and later trying to help. You will regard all the above as important. Or most of the above.

Good teachers, true teachers, care deeply about their students. They agonize when youngsters bomb a final, when some kiddo breaks the rules in a way that has to be recognized and reported to his intended college, when a parent begs them to give her daughter just a few more points. They spend hours wondering if they could have done a better job trying to reach the girl or boy who just doesn’t respond. They worry about the young ones who depend on school lunches during the year as their single source of a dependable meal.

For those of you who have worked in schools this year, I salute and thank you. Take a moment to pat yourselves on your collective backs, to thank each other for support and companionship. Take a deep breath and remind yourself that the metaphorical tornado in which you currently find yourself will pass. Leaving you bamboozled, but it will pass.

For those of you who are parents with offspring in schools, please recognize that this year has been harder than you probably can imagine for the teachers in your young ones’ lives. Recognize that the few weeks ahead are crammed with deadlines and demands. Be supportive. Take a moment to  thank your school staff directly or write a note of appreciation. We save those notes. They are proof that what we do is valuable.