June 3, 2020
Retirement.
Graduation.
It’s my last day of work, and it’s graduation day. Our 8th graders graduated this morning in a surreal ceremony in a parking lot, in the midst of a pandemic, hemmed in by curfews, boarded-up shops and the threat of martial law.
And I graduated into retirement – aka the “Golden Years” – and a feeling of exile. No wonder the Ancients feared exile. Exile is an amputation. At first you swear it’s the amputation of an appendage you’ll gladly be rid of, but then… oh, the proverbial train wreck … it hurts. Your mouth burns with the taste of — curses, what is that taste? Mortality? Lack of purpose? Loss of respect? Wounded ego?
And yet. Shouldn’t we educators embrace retirement? The labors of teaching are Sisyphean. I relish the surrender of my rock. Hallelujah! It’s gone! No more endless papers to grade, emails to write, committees to join, report cards to finish, lessons to plan. Ah, the lessons. Lessons that unexpectedly erupt into Vesuvian excitement and magic. Lessons that crumble and fall, ending in chaos, defiance or mutiny. To my non-teacher friends: teaching is NOT standing in front of 25 students and carefully explaining long division. Teaching is more like stand-up comedy. Toss out a question and see how the audience reacts. It worked? OK, more of that. Shut down the heckler, but without him knowing. Give the students a few blessed minutes of independent work, so you can play sheep dog – round up the stragglers, the dreamers, the racers, the walking wounded. And yet… Sisyphus and his rock beckon. For better or worse, I’ve never felt more alive than when I was teaching.
They graduate at 14. Teenagers. Survivors of the worst storms of puberty. World-wise and hormone-weary. Diploma in hand, in their grown-up graduation clothes, they head off to high school, and you can see the nascent adult in each face. The reckless hope hidden beneath the glib cynicism. The seeds of courage they’ll need to navigate today’s convoluted world.
As an engineer sidling into retirement I’m struggling with a niggling doubt that none of it mattered. Still it paid the bills
It mattered. I watched children grow up. You watched the resulting adults create new products, new processes to make life better. You watched ideas grow up.
I’m going to love reading your blog! Love Brenda
Who knows where it’s going… but thanks! Your feedback is so welcome.
I can’t wait to see the adventures you fill retirement with. You have made such a big difference in the life of my family, AND in every single child who was lucky enough to have been taught by you. Congratulations, Kathleen – we love you!