I am one of those...

I am a teacher.

I am one of those.

You may think I am lucky right now.

You may think I’m living the life.

But, you are wrong.

I am sad and I am heartbroken.

This week I went to work. I walked into my classroom and turned on the lights.

But this time, I had no kids to prepare for.

I walked into the room and stared blankly at my board with my lesson, essential questions, and word of the day; all ready for the return of my first graders when they came back from spring break. I looked at the supply baskets with children’s pencils, some sharpened and some dull from their hard work. I saw the used crayons and half used glue sticks. I glanced at their work on chart paper along my walls, their coloring pictures hung on my board they created for me with love. I walked further into the room and saw their desks that they kept straight for me because they respected and loved me. I then saw my desk that had my fancy pens for smiley faces and my binder of stories I love to read with them at the carpet.

It was like we just left.

It was like I was walking into a day of learning...but...

there was no one to teach.

I then took a walk and passed by the rooms of my co-workers, my friends. I passed by the office where I always wave and pop in to say hello because I count on them and need them to know I care. But, no one was there.

I saw custodians cleaning the halls that I quickly walked by with a smile and a happy hello, but felt bad because I was nervous, and not able to stop and talk to them. I saw the classrooms of my first grade team and stood at the door for only a moment to let them know I was sad and I missed them but had to refrain from hugging them and staying to long because we do those things to keep those we love safe. Yes, that’s what we had to do. That’s what we still have to do, despite present decisions. I know there are few of you out there that may roll your eyes and think we are being silly because of this, but being silly is the last thing we are being. So please stop making us feel bad. Show respect and spread love.

During my time in my classroom, I began by cleaning out their desks. I had ziplock baggies with their names on them so I could put all of their personal items in it safely so it was ready for pick up. I emptied the supply buckets, trying my best to remember what scissors were theirs to place in their baggy. I sorted through their brochures of the Aztec, Inca, and Mayan Civilizations that they were so proud they created. I smiled as I sorted next through their writings of, “If I traveled to the moon”, and My Favorite Habitat,” for which they could not wait to show their family. I found their books they created where they told the story of Little Red Riding Hood in their own words! Then it made me remember our presentation days when they presented their planet project and show and tell and how they had the courage at 6 years old to stand at a podium and present their work in front of their classmates. I placed in their baggies all of their work as well as their personal play doh that just needed more time to be used for hands on learning in the classroom. I then placed all their bags on their desks and thought, they will never sit in this chair, place hands on deck, and be my student anymore.

I then took everything off of my shelves. I placed them in boxes and stacked them on counters. I took down my captain crew board (classroom helpers) and felt sad because I was afraid not everyone had the chance to be the first mate/teacher assistant for a week!

I took down the vocabulary words, the standards and sailboats that they move when we meet a standard. I erased the lesson on the board, which was the last thing I wrote before Covid 19 created plans of its own. I unplugged the pencil sharpener, printer, and iPads. I took down my classroom photos of my kids and placed them in a ziplock bag, knowing it was the last time I could say, I was their teacher and they were my students.

I then looked around at an empty room.

I looked around at what I was not ready for.

At least not yet.

Yes, we do this every year.

Yes, they have to move on.

But, we lost so much.

We lost the last weeks of seeing them mature and grow an inch. We lost the chance to hear them read one more time. We lost the opportunity to see more loose teeth. We lost the chance to embrace the weeks of goodbyes.

I lost the chance to hug them on that last day saying, “Remember me in 125, I am always here if you need me!”

I lost the chance to stand at the steps and wave as they loaded the bus to scream and shout, “Have a good summer!!!!!” Where they then waved back and smiled those smiles of accomplishments and knowing they made it to the finish line!

Their smiles of, even though I struggled, I still love you.....and even though you made me sit in refocus, you still loved me!

So yes, I am one of those.

Those teachers that work hard.

That work more than you think.

That appreciate their job more than you think.

I don’t do it for the money.

I don’t do it for the summers off.

I don’t do it because it’s easy, which it’s not.

I do it because I want to make a difference in someone’s life.

And because, I need them to make a difference in mine!