As gloomy Mondays can often be, today was long. Type. Print. Copy. Staple. Teach. Type. Print. Copy. Staple. Teach. At this moment, as I sit at the head of my tenth grade English class, the florescent lights bearing down on my tired eyes, I can feel the dull and aching pain that is known as teaching. Organizing a classroom of twenty-five fifteen and sixteen year old students is one thing. Convincing them, only thirty minutes before they are free for the day, that writing about their holiday will not only be helpful for exam preparation but will also be fun seems a near impossibility.
Even with the daily struggles, I force myself to find the energy to take a step back, look at my life, and realize how lucky I am to be here at this moment. I am humbled that they welcome me into their lives and look to me as some sort of figure of authority, or perhaps even just a good storyteller.
Seeing that we are almost half way through the year, it is natural to begin thinking about the departure we will face at the end of June. Walking away from the relationships have formed with each of my students individually will be quite hard. That thought, looming vaguely in the distance, is of a unique importance. It reminds me to enjoy each passing day, to take the struggles in stride, and to continue to positively impact the lives of my students through both the valuation of the acquisition of knowledge and positive modeling of citizenship in our ever expanding and globalizing world.
A deep and consuming silence has taken over the classroom, as their hands rapidly convert the abstractions in their immersed minds to poignant manifestations on paper. Watching this process naturally leads to gratification as I realize that I have (however small it might be) some part in it.
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