I’m packing up my classroom. Not your typical shove it into every nook and cranny available and sort through it later kind of packing up. But really packing. And sorting, And remembering.
Clearing out my library, the room fills with the voices of thirteen years worth of students that have devoured those books. It’s a wonderful sound. Carletta and her voracious appetite for learning, Jason and his obsession with the Titanic, Clark and his love of all things odd giving me a love of all things odd along the way, Chris and Sean and the nonstop Goosebumps crusade, Shaylynn riding through every animal book I had, Lily and her Edgar Allen Poe phase, Masson and his need to hold on to as many books as possible – just in case, Marilyn and how I loved to listen to her expression when she read, Gina who loved to share facts from her books, Kent, Allison, Jamari, Samantha, Kevin, Sara, Emily, Rachel, Quinn, Luke…the names and learning that took place with those books could go on and on. Learning on their part and learning on mine.
It’s what I will miss most. That reciprocal learning that takes place between a teacher and her students. How a group of kiddos enter through your door and become your kids.
Some faces faded by time, some as clear as if I taught them today. With each subsequent class telling the same, but somehow new, stories. Thirteen years of students coming and going. Thirteen years of laughter, learning, mistakes, triumphs, and love. I’ve been so lucky to have had my kids.