finish - verb 'fi-nish\ : to come to an end; terminate.
I am finished with college. Completely. All that’s left is to walk across the stage at Hugh Hodgson Hall next Wednesday afternoon as the always-incredible Dr. Kathy Thompson calls my name, and then to be in Sanford Stadium the following Friday evening with every other graduate from the class of 2011. How did we get this far? Wasn’t I just changing my major as an awkward freshman living in Church Hall?
So, I think that I’ve found my calling in life.
I’m currently watching Food(ography) on The Cooking Channel. This restaurant episode just covered Tamara Reynolds, a lovely lady in New York City who hosts The Sunday Night Dinner In Astoria, a NYC supper club. It started out small, but it turned out to be an incredible thing. She now sends out an email invitation to all of her friends, and the first twenty to respond get the spot. They pay a small fee, and then they all come to enjoy an amazing little dinner on Sunday night. Perfection? I think so.
I’ll be in Athens for the summer (woo! I’ve heard Athens Summers are the best!), and I want to have a supper club. Now, I’m no Tamara Reynolds, and I don’t intend on charging an entrance fee, other than a side dish or something. So, if you’re in Athens for the summer, you should be a part of this non-existant aforementioned supper club. Hardin House Supper Club. Just give me a shout. And you’ll be in!
1. Quote from school: “Yeah, I got my phone taken up during the CRCT. Stupid. I had it hidden so well. It was in my boots. It fell out when I did a handstand during the test.” (What part of this quote isn’t an issue? And who allows acrobatics during testing?)
2. Maybe another teacher on my hall does… I had to watch his class because he split his pants while testing. I’m sure there’s a grand story. I’ll need to inquire.
3. My babies (aka first period) threw me a “surprise” party for my last day. I say “surprise” because you can’t really hide 3 dozen cupcakes, balloons, Doritos, pigs in a blankets, fudge rounds, and Cokes. Reason #4958925059348 I love them. They also had a line to hug me at dismissal, kind of like waiting to get Belle’s autograph at Disney World.
4. I cut the grass today. It’s a perfect fix for my desire for instant gratification, straight lines, and OCDness.
5. My current debit card has a picture on it from when I first received aforementioned account at a sparkling 11 years old. I’ll let you imagine for a moment what that picture looks like. Now, at ripe ol’ 22, I hate the picture. The card expires in 2013, and I was anxiously awaiting that date on the calendar so I could plead for a new picture. Welp, apparently my bank information was compromised, so our dear friends at BoA went ahead and sent me a new card. Complete with same picture. This one’s good til 2018. Imma gonna needa to go to the bank.
6. I dougie-ed with a kid in class today. Epic win.
7. Recess = the gift that keeps on giving. I’m a true redneck these days, with lots of new freckles.
8. I received an email a few moments ago pertaining to the dreaded seminar week that lies ahead. It starts at 9 am. I was thinking that it started at 8 am. Best surprise ever? Perhaps. (Who knew sleeping until 7:30 would sound SO AMAZING!??!?!!??! Woooo!)
9. Tomorrow morning will be day five of CRCT administration. I think it will be the perfect opportunity to unveil my most recently acquired skill: sleeping with my eyes open while monitoring test taking. Yes, this sounds glorious.
10. If you find my voice anywhere, I’d like it back. Please and thank you.
It’s not the way it’s supposed to be. It’s not. Things happen and you think That shouldn’t have happened. I don’t mean like the “I got a speeding ticket” or “My new shirt has a hole in it already”. I mean things that make you stop in your tracks. Things that make you step back, take a moment, and really process the fact that we live in a fallen world. Nothing is untouched. Nothing.
This past Saturday I received a call from my mentor teacher. After a long, semi-frustrating week, my first thoughts were Why are you calling me on a Saturday?. I could tell by the tone of her voice that something was not right. Something was way not right. She told me that my favorite student had been tragically killed in a freak accident Friday afternoon. A fourteen-year old boy was doing something he loved, something he always did, something that should’ve been fine. He was cutting the grass. The mower slid down a slight embankment, flipped, and crushed him, breaking his neck, taking his life instantly.
This boy, my favorite student, had come by my room after school just a few hours before this tragic accident to give me a hug, say “Bye, Gamble!” and to wish me a good weekend. He was the kid that everyone loved. Everyone knew him, everyone knew that laugh, that smile, and that way he got out of trouble because of those aforementioned attributes. He lived life with unspeakable joy. He lit up a room just by walking in. That voice was so distinct. He was respectful beyond measure, wise beyond his years, and a model student. But he was more than that: he gave it all in every arena of life. He was the captain of the football team. He gave baseball everything he had, even though the baseball team is less than stellar. He loved his friends and his family, and he was a part of the Fantastic Five (a group of five students that had been pals since, well, forever). He loved students with special needs and would even have them come and eat lunch at his table with his “cool” friends. This boy was the definition of well-rounded. He’s the kid that came up with the Gamble Song and Dance, the one that started the whole “let’s just call her Gamble” thing, the one who was the center of nearly every funny teaching story I’ve got in my repertoire. He gave a monologue in class two weeks ago about the variety of, for lack of better words, farts that one can have. He was the one that would say “Gamble, we can all tell you’re trying so hard not to laugh… just let it out”. He was the class clown, the cool kid, the football player, the baseball player, Mr. FCA, the teacher’s pet, the teacher’s frustration… and everything in between.
Jump back to last September. On my first day of teaching at a new school, I had theThey’re going to hate me and I’m going to hate this thoughts that I always do. But these thoughts were shattered when one boy walked in the room, gave me a high five, and cracked the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. It was that moment that I a) knew I’d love this place b) found constant encouragement and c) learned my first student’s name: Tyler Moon.
His sudden death tore the school up. I cannot imagine another student that was more loved by peers, teachers, and administrators alike. There’s a huge hole in the school now, a hole that’s far bigger than the empty desk I have to look at every day. Even though he’s gone, you’d better believe that he lives on at the school. He’s a hero, for sure. Thousands came to his visitation, and hundreds came to his funeral. This boy lived more in 14 years than most live in a lifetime. He lived life to the full. For whatever reason, it was his time to go. I can’t understand that, but I trust that it’s true.
Though it’s been the most exhausting week of teaching by far, it’s also been one of the sweetest. Comforting 100+ mourning students wears you out in ever sense of the phrase, but it also allows you to really get to know your students. Watching a fourteen-year old linebacker weep tears you up inside. Seeing his empty seat in class and at lunch is hard to stomach. But watching his friends come together is one of the most beautiful things in the world.
As the week went on, things got better every day. They’re far from normal, but we’ve gotten some good laughs lately. One of his best friends said that he was jealous because now Tyler gets to know all of the answers to my personal life that they so diligently ask about. (I told this kid that really he just knows that I’m as lame as all get out. I spend my Friday nights watching Scrubs, blogging, and washing Martin the Fish’s bowl. I wake up at the wee hours of the morning to watch meteor showers with the roommates.) The kids have started blaming silly or strange things on Tyler, saying that he’s just hanging out with us. We were able to conclude that if he’d been at his own funeral, he would’ve laughed aloud at the song choices and included his typical response to everything “What are ya doin’?”.
I knew that this class would hold a special place in my heart, as they are my first batch of kids. I feel like they’re my little brothers and sisters. And now, I feel that even more. This week we saw each other as more than just students and teachers, but as real people dealing with real things. We’ve laughed, cried, and prayed together. They’ve seen me at my best, and they’ve seen me at my worst. We’ve stood together for six hours at his funeral, and we’ve sat down and shared memories. I’ll remember this class for so many reasons more than anticipated. I’ll remember seeing them grow from baby 8th graders in September to high schoolers dealing with real-life issues.
It’s not the way it’s supposed to be. But, it is what it is.
I recently read a friend’s post about how she loves her English major friends because they understand each other so well. I think the same thing can probably be said for any major, but education especially. The sixty or so of us in my cohort (all girls except for the three lucky gentlemen) have bene together for two years now… We started out together on day one, wondering how we got here, where we’re going, and what the heck Bloom’s Taxonomy is. We’ve been together through the It’s 11 pm, we’re still not back to campus from this Family Science Night field trip, we all awoke around 6 this morning to teach, and we think we might die soon because our professor isn’t the best driver of this fifteen passenger van that I’ve been in the very back of for the past two hours playing Never Have I Ever learning way more about my cohort than I ever wished to know. And we’ll be together in a little over a month as we walk across the stage of Hugh Hodgson Hall and give Dr. Thompson and Dr. Andrews big (well-deserved) hugs as we cross the finish line. They’ve seen us from the beginning, the very beginning, day one. (Dr. Thompson, thankfully, has known me longer than that since I had her a few semester prior to entering the program in a service learning lab. I’m thankful for that for many reasons, but most notably because she knows that my over sleeping and missing the first part of our first cohort class is completely abnormal and would never happen again.)
But these kids in my cohort, we just understand each other. We no longer find it odd (or maybe we shouldn’t find it odd) when one of our instructors begin to say If you can hear me, pull your ear. We’ve become professionals at quieting instantly when an instructor raises a hand. We’ve laughed together at Dr. Jackson’s craziness, we’ve cried together having mental breakdowns during our poverty simulations, and we’ve been at our wits end together when we hear the dreaded phrase “unit plan”. We know that when we have class on Thursday nights, no one really cares to hear much about your classroom. We’d rather complain about our lack of social lives, our crazy mentor teachers, or just sit their in exhausted silence together. We vent to each other, we scratch backs, and we laugh at the ridiculousness that is it all. We know what it’s like to be called Miss _______________ every day, to get up at an insane hour and drive an hour in the dark (but getting to watch the sunrise) just to get to school, to have fights with a copier, to wonder what the line between “proficient” and “advanced” is, to experience the simultaneous joy and dread of Final Observation, and to be excited about having an 8:00 class because that means wearing comfy clothes and sleeping in. We know the eternal eye roll that accompanies book titles such as “Teaching With Love and Logic” and “Not Much Just Chillin’” as well as having a unit plan handed back to you to be re-done. We know exactly what is meant by phrases like “3-2-1”, “Think, Pair, Share”, “Chalk Talk”, “Ticket Out The Door”, “KWL Chart (oh the horror)”, and “Human Continuum”. We’ve walked a mile in each others’ shoes, and I’ll hate to leave these folks in a month. But, we’ll be out there in the real world as real teachers, maybe even having student teachers of our own one day, and we’ll look back and (hopefully) remember all of this.
