Modern social media has shown me glimpses into the lives of young adults who are former students of mine. I have been in the classroom long enough that former students (fifth graders, mostly, but a few third graders) have earned advanced degrees, gotten married, died.
This week a former student reached out to me to ask if I could attend a rosary for a classmate of his who passed away four years ago. I taught them both fifth grade over a decade ago. Even though I couldn't attend because the rosary was happening at the same time as the accreditation initial visit for my current school, I haven't been able to stop thinking about that class and the life that was cut short. I have always strived to do my best by my students. I have always done my best by my students. But there are specific memories that make me cringe, going all the way back to my student teaching days. I have fallen short over and over again, and known - FELT - it. How many times have I fallen short and not even known?
Okay, this isn't about me. There is more to say than I will be able to encapsulate in this post. I have all the feels tonight. I feel guilty that I couldn't attend the rosary today. I feel vindicated that a former student I had "a knock down, drag out fight" (words spoken by the person who held a point of view different from mine on the student in question) to be put in the regular math class over the remedial one, is now an oncology nurse. I feel humbled that a former student said I am "the youngest teacher out there," "really are Wonder Woman," and that I "haven't changed at all since fifth grade" in comments on a thread where she is the original poster.
After I mentioned that I have now taught every grade level from third through eighth, one of my former fifth graders asked me what my favorite grade level was to teach. I think I have a special place in my heart for every grade level/subject area I have taught. Every year I have had a new teaching assignment, that new assignment has become my favorite. Just ask my husband. Third grade was exactly where I was meant to be, until I left and found another position in fifth. I distinctly remember thinking the fifth graders were "big" and "beyond me" when I taught third grade. But then I spent more years teaching fifth graders than fifth graders have been alive, and loved every year.
Fifth graders are the mushy middle of the K-8 school system. They are definitely not primary students anymore but neither are they middle school students. For a majority of the years I taught this grade level, we ran on the middle school schedule, even though we weren't considered part of the middle school. In the same classroom kids can be losing their teeth right and left while others are knee deep in puberty, wondering what in the heck is happening to their bodies. On my first overnight field trip (four days of outdoor environmental education at a YMCA camp) the first year I taught fifth grade, one of my students got her first period. Thankfully her mother was a cabin leader on the trip, and had older daughters.
When I took a long term sub job teaching middle school ELA I knew I was in over my head. Except, from day one, I wasn't. I developed rapport with the kids and discovered a knack for storytelling the right story at the right time for the kids in my room. They were hungry for information that might smooth their path into high school, and I had stories from my parenting experience as well as my own memories of high school that eased their anxieties. As an eighth grade homeroom teacher I had a student tell me I was a powerful motivational speaker.
Now I am teaching fourth grade, in the middle of a pandemic. Of course I love it. But I love what I do. I know I am good at it. I strive to be great at it, and am aware that some days I fall short. But I always have energy and enthusiasm for my students.
I have grown as an educator, but I pray that I keep growing. As a first year teacher I kept myself afloat with the thought, "If I ever feel like I have done the best, and can't grow anymore as a teacher, that's when I'll need to get out of the classroom." More than 20 years later, it's still true. It's not the overt thought it once was, a lifeline to cling to as I kept my head above water in a new profession, but it still remains at the core of who I am as a teacher. What can I do better next year? next week? tomorrow?
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