That's how close we are to the end of the school year. Some (well, a LOT) of the seniors have already "packed it in" and are just biding their time. I have to admit that in some cases I am ready to see the last of them, too.
One of my students has really been a pill lately. That's not a chip on her shoulder, but one massive BOULDER. She's constantly getting called to the office, skipping class, mouthing off. I mentioned to Susan earlier this week that it's just time for her to GO.
Then yesterday in class I suggested the journal topic "memories of freshman year." They like to reminisce...it gets them pumped for the idea that they have nearly arrived at Destination Graduation. Well, pretty soon I noticed that Ms. Attitude had started quietly crying. She arose, grabbed a few tissues, and stood near my desk by the wastebasket dabbing her swollen eyes. I looked up with concern, and she asked if she could go out into the hall for few minutes. This is not a girl who typically gives off anything other than a tough, don't-mess-with-me vibe, mind you. Vulnerablity is not a trait I've ever seen her exhibit. She returned some time later, and class continued.
When the bell rang for class dismissal, she lingered. I mouthed "Are you OK?" as she moved nearer to me, and then she reached out and hugged me. The words spilled out...she had hated high school, and it all started back in 6th grade, when she, excited to meet new people and make friends, was instantly ostracized. The other girls were simply "horrible" to her, she sobbed, calling her a whore (she developed early) and making fun of her. "Miss Opel, I didn't even know what sex was. All I wanted was a few friends. I can't wait to get out of here."
I reminded her that she was nearly there, that she was on the cusp of a new beginning, that she could recreate herself any way she desired. I also empathized with her feelings of alienation, since I, too, had struggled to fit in back when I was her age. In fact, I related how I had partly become a teacher because I felt I could have compassion for those who weren't finding these to be the "best years of their life." As I listened to her story and offered reassuring pats and sympathy, I realized yet again that no matter how mature they seem on the outside, these are still children on the inside, simply wanting love and acceptance. God needed me to understand that again today.
Twenty-four days, sweetie. Twenty-four days.
What a touching story! TFS!
Posted by: Anne | April 29, 2006 at 12:36 PM
beth, as soon as i saw your blog, i knew i had to blogline it because i had a feeling you'd be telling stories that got my tearducts working...and i was right.
Posted by: amber | April 29, 2006 at 01:52 PM
You sound like such an awesome teacher, I am glad God has placed you where you are!!!!!
Posted by: Leah LaMontagne | April 29, 2006 at 06:06 PM
Very cool photo. That time does flash by and 'blur' so quickly.
Very cool that two people were put in place for a 'moment' together where both of you could teach the other.
I hope she takes your advice.
Love ya girl!
Posted by: Carolyn McAfee | April 30, 2006 at 06:52 AM
Wow.
Bless you for being soft, kind, and accepting of her! Bless her for opening up and feeling safe with you. You just never know what makes a person "tick" like they do....how beautiful that she could be real with you!
Posted by: carrie | April 30, 2006 at 12:01 PM
This is exactly why I would NEVER want to be a teenager again (and I didn't even have that bad a time as a teen). Whoever said those years are the best of one's life was smokin' some serious crack.
Posted by: Gabriella Biancofiore | April 30, 2006 at 09:37 PM
Are those *scrapbook pages* on the walls of your school?!
Posted by: joni | April 30, 2006 at 09:42 PM