To teach is to learn

They were all dressed in black. “Its like a funeral”, they said. The Death of the Year. Nervous laughter, an anxious wait to be called to the stage. Its crazy to think my first year of teaching is over. It could still be that first day, standing in my empty class with not enough tables for the 28 kids I would soon inherit. Trying to navigate playground duty with a dodgy foot, hastily learning names and how best to teach maths, how to get their attention when they’re running wild in gym class. 

I flumbled around with the microphone. Shaky hands making it hard to get it off the stand, hundreds of eyes waiting expectantly. I passed it to one of the kids. The floor seemed a long way down, the stairs off the stage seemed steep, was worried my shaky legs would make me trip. I made it down in one piece, gave the signal to them to start.

I didn’t think about much during that performance. I gave them their cues, got my breathing back to normal. They did exactly what we had practiced hundreds of times, but even better, like the little performers they are. The applause was huge, and the praise after even bigger. No one believed my class could do it, or me.

I biked home, through the greenish light of sun through leaf-filled trees, and thought about all that had happened. The tears I cried when I felt I couldn’t do it, couldn’t keep it together. The long days, biking home in the dark, coughing myself to sleep. Marking endless tests and homework, writing reports. Despairing that no one listened to me, that losing your voice made things even harder, that doing art was exhausting, especially with a cold. That meetings were boring and duties in the rain were no fun.

But then I thought about other things. How much the kids have grown and learned. The fun times, of collecting autumn leaves to make a collage in art, opening secret Santa presents sitting in a circle, reading our books outside in the sun. Of being the rebel group on field trips that dodges guided tours, painting their hands in blue and yellow to make a class hand print collage. Showing them the ducks and the leaves and the trees outside the class, them making me daisy chains.  Teaching them to love and respect animals. Of the hugs and the cards and the letters, the high-fives when I score a goal in football. The I don’t want this year to end, and you’re the best teacher ever. I’m not so sure about that. But I do know I want to be different to the teachers I had. I want the kids to remember this year.

We had a picnic on the last day. There was fruit and cake, popcorn and cucumbers. The sun was shining, they played with frisbees on the grass, they gave me a million hugs. I though about the lows, and the highs, the learning. And the year faded into a mellow glow, kind of like the light late on a summer’s day.

” On and on you will hike and I know you’ll go far, and face all your problems, whatever they are”.- Dr. Seus, in Oh the Places You’ll Go. 

Swinging into summer like- 

It was interesting biking back that last day, with four bouquets of flowers and a bagful of presents! It was a tough year, so thank you to everyone who listened to me moan and cry, gave me advice and generally had my back. Wouldn’t have survived without you! Much love xx