Looking to the Next Chapter

The first school year of the new millennium is winding down and from here until mid-June it’s going to be a mad rush of tests, award ceremonies, second-semester grades, dances, final concerts, yearbooks and graduation.

Then we teachers will organize our materials, pack stuff away and secure our rooms for the summer. Off we will go to renew ourselves with different pursuits, but we’ll be back in the fall to start the cycle all over again.

What’s hard to envision is the cycle coming to an end. I realize that in the not-too-distant future, I’m going to pack it up for good and not automatically head back down the freeway come September.

Many of the files I’ve accumulated for 30 years will be dumped or passed on to a younger teacher. My room decor will come down for the last time--Dorothea Lange’s black-and-white photo of the Depression-era mother, the film poster of “Dead Poet’s Society,” the quote by Einstein: “Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds,” and my wall of student photos taken at graduation.

I often see former colleagues, now retired, who seem rested and content but it remains difficult for me to picture a life without teaching. Maybe I should focus on things I won’t miss, such as getting up at 5:45 a.m., seeing 39 names on a class roll sheet and lugging home a book bag every night heavy enough to bench press at the gym.

I will certainly not miss grading papers at odd hours in odd locations (at my oldest son’s sax lessons and my youngest son’s baseball games, not to mention in the airport over spring break). There will be no more silly rules (“Your classroom expectations can’t exceed one page”), lazy colleagues (“I don’t care what video you have there, just let me show it third period”) or self-centered kids (“I just don’t like reading about poor people”). I won’t have to argue about grades (“I have to have an A in this class”), deal with a difficult parent (“You need to assign less writing”) or sit through an inane workshop (“Let’s all put one shoe in this pile”).

But the examples listed above are by far the exception. Overall, I have been blessed with supportive parents; administrators who treat me with respect; bright, interesting colleagues; and flat-out wonderful students.

Yes, there’s far more that will be hard to forget.

I’ll miss the feel of the campus early in the morning, unlocking my room, switching on the lights and seeing all those empty desks. For a moment, everything seems possible: Perhaps the girl who works late Tuesday nights will be on time to Period 1, maybe Period 2 will understand why George shot Lennie, and everyone in Period 3 will turn in the “Hamlet” essay on time. Period 5 will be caught up with their reading in Orwell’s “1984,” and the boy in Period 6 will finally nail a B on his book report rewrite.

I’ll also miss walking into our teachers lounge just before the bell rings. Our department chairman cracks us up even at 7 a.m., someone always brings snacks and the old, donated couches actually look comfortable.

I always catch a colleague at the photocopy machine. The special ed teacher has a great movie tip (“Waiting for Guffman”), the Spanish teacher lends me a cool CD (“Sweet Honey in the Rock”) and the athletic director yells encouraging words as he whizzes by with his coffee (“Nice column, Chris”). The music teacher always lets me listen to the choir rehearse, the college counselor shows me new photos of her grandson and the principal’s secretary always has food. It’s a crazy, diverse staff, but we have never failed to come together in a crisis, whether it’s a student death, a critically ill colleague or a threatened strike.

Most of all, I’m going to miss the students. They’re the ones we spend the most time with day in and day out, and I will have had more than 4,000 of them when I eventually take my leave. I am always amazed at the way they suddenly fill an empty room or hallway with their intense conversation, their unique clothes, their moods and their sheer physicality. It’s a chaotic mass of youthful energy and confusion that I find refreshing.

Students have made me laugh with their refreshingly new outlooks on old things, be it Shakespeare or the use of the semicolon. They have been inattentive, stubborn, lazy, flippant or flaky--but never boring. Students have given me wonderfully creative cards, signed photos, honest letters of apology, homemade tree ornaments and beloved coffee mugs. They have touched my heart with their quiet empathy, an unexpected hug or the solemn presentation of flowers when my father died.

My students continually make me proud of them when they try again, don’t give up and earn a grade with hard work. Students go on to do the very things I was preparing them to accomplish. They write and visit and send e-mails about the current case they’re working on, the difficulties with their doctoral thesis, the show they’re directing, the class they’re now teaching, the wonderful young woman they’ve married and what it’s like to watch their baby boy take his first steps.

I will miss them--and miss this column, which has offered the opportunity to touch so many people outside my usual sphere.

And finally, here’s to my fellow educators who will be back in the “Front of the Classroom” this morning. I wish I could pay you what you deserve, significantly reduce your teaching load and give you a sparkling new workplace. But even with the frustrations and the hurdles, I know you’ll still be at it. I know I will be for a few more years yet. None of us is in this game because of money, status or snazzy offices. We teach because we know we’re involved in something that matters. Carry on.