IN THE LAND OF THE LIVING

This is my first day of summer. I woke up to light outside my window and a cool breeze sifting through the blinds.
I couldn’t decide what props I wanted to celebrate so I chose the porch position with my camping chair, a strong cup of coffee with Bailey’s, chopped up fresh strawberries and ice cream, and Innocence Mission playing from its place on the ipod stand.
I am so happy to be done. I know I will miss my class eventually, but today I feel like a heavy burden has been lifted. They were known, by their previous first, second, third and fourth grade teachers as “a stubborn group of kids,” who presented the greatest challenges. “I was so glad to say goodbye on the last day of school!” the fourth grade teachers told me. It makes me laugh, and it’s just like God’s usual mark of humor in my life to have me hit the ground running. The truth is, in the last ten months I have never been more disrespected, doubted, unappreciated, and challenged from the pit of my character. During one three-hour long meeting with an angry parent and the Principal I was expected to maintain professionalism and a least keep my hands to myself while the mother unloaded with attacks that were aimed to prove my racism and partiality. I was put on trial… in my own classroom. Because her son received C’s on his fifth grade report card, I was being called racist and what’s more, uncaring. The most I could do was hold my tongue that whole three hours and hope to God that I wouldn’t snap from my submissive state of tears and apologies, reach over to the other side of the table and latch on to that woman’s throat.
Her words weren’t the offensive part– it’s the attack on my effort to love, care for and nurture all twenty students in my class to the end of the year.
It was the year of many lessons. I was disciplined to love the unlovable: students, parents, hands-off administrators. Much of it hurt. I made many, many mistakes. And I too, was more than happy to say goodbye on our last day, in fact I rejoiced with a little leap of excitement in my head when I hugged that last student.
Another wave of emotion will come in a few weeks, when I realize that the students I loved so much are no longer with me. I will find them next fall; older and even more awkward looking, baby fat melting away, new backpacks stuffed with supplies, middle school insecurities breathed into them from the minute they open their locker, shuffling into their sixth grade classrooms. They’ll come by to say hi or they’ll ignore me in the halls, they’ll tell me how much they miss fifth grade, they’ll recall memories.
And I… I’ll have my new class; eager little angels in that first couple weeks, ready to learn. At this point, they’re all my fans or undecided, but there are not yet opponents waiting to go home and twist stories for mom and dad who load ammunition. They love their new, young teacher. But I know the other side, the rocky road to be traveled after the first report cards. But for then, that crisp, fresh week in early September, I’ll stand before their clean faces and begin again, hoping that this year I could be better.