This afternoon, as I cleaned up the carnage of my back table, the office called my room through the intercom. Two boys were there to see me. My brain stalled for a minute. I asked for their names to be repeated through the crackly speaker. The second time I heard loud and clear. One of my students from last year was back to say hello.
My heart skipped a beat.
I keep my kids for two years and he disappeared over summer, rumored to have moved to the South, Alabama, or Georgia, or somewhere. In a room full of rowdy boys, he was a leader, calm, well-spoken, polite. Whenever he was in trouble, he would apologize kindly, usually ending his statement by calling me ma’am. His test scores were among the highest in the school.
Today he showed up in my room, a shy smile, a sideways hug. His eyes traced the walls of our classroom, the desks new, everything else so very much the same. I told him we missed him. I told him we would bring in a 31st desk just for him. And, I meant it. I don’t want 31 students, but I would if the 31st was this kid. His eyes filled up with tears as we talked. Not a single one spilled down his cheek, but they were there, ready to pour out.
When he left, I cried. Another teacher was in my room. She teared up with me. He never moved to Georgia, or Alabama, or the like. He still lives in Sacramento, just too far to make it to our school. A lot of students travel a distance to reach our doors. For some families, it ends up being too much. I understand, but my heart still breaks. His eyes told me his did too.
About twenty minutes after he left, I wandered back into the hallways to see if I could catch him again. With many brothers, I thought maybe they’d still be in someone else’s classroom. I found them in the hallway, his mom and siblings headed my direction. I asked him if he wanted us to write him. He smiled wide. I wrote down his address. His mom promised he’d write back.
I know I will say good-bye to every kid I teach, but some disappear without a word. I’ve had students return to Mexico overnight, or so the stories go. At the beginning of the school year, I was certain this student would be back. I told the other teachers not to worry, that I had talked to their mom, that she had said they’d be there. Eventually I gave up. Another student took his spot, the year went on.
His reappearance today was an unexpected gift, so bittersweet. It was nice to say good-bye this time. I wished I could pick up his house and put it across the street from our school. But then I let him go. I reminded myself that I love all my kids, that he opened up a space for someone new, someone that maybe needed it more than he did. That’s the good part. I know deep down that he’ll be fine, whether he misses us or not.
oliviaobryon 
I think that would be one of the hardest parts of becoming a teacher. Even though you know the children will leave you, you get to know them. You invest time and energy in them. You want them to succeed….and you care about them. Sooner, rather than later, they leave. I’m sure there’s a bittersweet in knowing you’ve helped them grown, but that it’s time to say goodbye.
Yes, it’s definitely one of the hardest parts, especially when the students disappear earlier than you anticipate. It will be really challenging to say good-bye in June to 30 kids I’ve spent the last two years with– all those tears, smiles… I’m not going to think about it yet 😉
I think what you do is admirable.
Thanks Kitt 🙂
I second Kitt’s comment …
And, I third that she’s right. Bonding with kids and letting them go is both heart breaking and what makes this work matter. 🙂
Today, I thought of what graduation will be like this year, and I started to cry. In some sense, I’m terrified of what might life will be like without this group. This is why we do what we do.
This will be a first for me, saying good-bye to my kids I’ve spent the last two years with cooped up in a little room for six hours a day! The first batch I taught was co-teaching for one year, it wasn’t quite the same. I know I’ll cry, a lot. You’re right though, it’s why it’s all worth it. 🙂
Can’t wait to read the post where he comes back 15 years later as a successful doctor/motivational speaker/writer/superhero. You are in his heart Olivia. One day he might blog about a teacher he had who taught him how to love. {{{Hugs}}} Kozo
🙂 That’s quite a thought. He wants to be a doctor. I know he’ll do it. That’s why I’m not so worried about him as I would be about some of my other kiddos. It’s all worth it in the end, even if it’s hard to say good-bye.
PS. Forgot to mention, your comment made me tear up. True emotion spread across the internet. 🙂
What a moving post. Thank you for sharing, Olivia. I like your statement about how he “opened up a space for someone new, someone who maybe needed it more than he did.” That is such an inspiring way to look at it.
Thanks Krystle! 🙂