“And yet…”

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.

There’s a reason I ended up in middle school. I like children, but that’s not why I teach. If it was, I’d be in the trenches of kindergarten or first grade.

I like math, but if that was my motivation, I’d be in high school or college.

No, I like watching humans grow up.

Our middle school runs 5th through 8th grade, and the metamorphosis is breathtaking. They come in as 10-year-olds; still deep in the throes of childhood.  Puppy-like energy,  a wide-eyed openness to learning how the world works.

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. 

That is why I teach. We middle school teachers are like a string of lighthouses in the turbulence of adolescence, and we know it. The imperative of being strong gives us strength. 

I’ve always loved that feeling of being needed, of earning respect by doing no more than trying to be my best self. That’s what I will miss most.