First Day of School

Somehow it's different this year, but I can't put my finger on it. There is the same range of abilities, same range of personalities, same A+ students and would-be dropouts. But somehow, it's different. Maybe I'm just getting old. I've been at this for over 17 years now, after all. I had worried, at the end of last spring and even admittedly, over the summer, that I was beginning to become jaded, that my mindset showed early onset cynicism. Changing rooms, not having textbooks, and the simple stress of life didn't help. Then came the first day of school.

As I prepared for Tuesday, August 17, 2015, I looked forward to seeing the faces of those students I knew and loved - students who I hoped trusted me with the same degree of intensity as I had passion for their learning. I also knew I was getting hordes of students new to me. I admit, even after 17 years, there is some anxiety there. How will I get to know them fast enough that I can establish relationships before they begin to slide away from me? Teenagers are slippery like that.

In they strolled, sneaked, sauntered, strutted... nervous and excited and bored and hopeful, just like me in so many ways. Standing on opposite sides of a mirror, we were. I interpreted every move, every glance, every word. I don't think they realized what a study in adolescent sociology they were that first day.

Tuesday went by in a blur, just like everything does when you want it to be 'just right.' I called a female student "Mr. (Last Name)". I tripped over my stool. The tech department didn't have our websites up. I felt lame going "old school" and handing out paper copies of Student Interest Inventories. But I also connected, at least in some small way, with every student who walked through my door. I learned the names over 80 students new to me. My kids worked and wrote and discussed and settled in. My heart danced at seeing the faces of students I adore and the new faces of students I would get to know.

Perhaps it seems inconsequential to those who don't teach - who don't have the privilege and honor of seeing young people grow and develop into the very adults who will run our world in a matter of years. But when I read those Inventories and learn about the boy whose father just died, the kids who want me to push them so that they can be their best, the multiple children whose families are being ripped apart by divorce,  the students who are excited to be here with me, and the too many teens who feel like they don't have a friend in the world, I count myself fortunate. I am needed here.

There is an oft-told story about an old man walking down a beach where hundreds upon hundreds of starfish had washed up on shore. He would stoop, pick one up, and throw it into the ocean, stoop, pick one up, and throw it...  As he walked down the beach, continuing his mission, he was stopped by a man who asked him what he was doing: "Why are you throwing them into the ocean?"

"Because the tide is out and the sun is up, and if I don't throw them further in, they will die."

"Don't you realize there are miles of beach and thousands of starfish here? You can't possibly save them all. In fact, even if you work all day, it won't make a difference!"

The old man listened calmly, and then bent down to pick up another starfish and threw it into the sea. "It made a difference to that one."

Let me be the difference this year.