I am a teacher. I would love to say it is just my job, but that is just not true. It is my life. There isn't anything I say or do or think that doesn't have something to do with my students. I am told not to take it personally, but it is personal to me. For nine months each year, these are my heart and my soul. Most of them don't even know it. To them I am the horrible, moody teacher who makes them read. I am the one who asks them questions they don't want to answer and the one that makes them step out of their comfort zone and think in a way then never have. Some hate me, some love me. Most of them just tolerate me.
There are eight more days of school left. I can barely say it without giggling. I live for summer, not unlike my students. I love long days with no responsibility. I have the whole day to play with my puppy. I will read book after book. I will finally clean my house.
But I am also left with a sense of fear. For three months, these students don't have the safe haven of the classroom for part of the day. Most our on their own. Have I given them the confidence to make the right decisions? Will they realize their own worth and choose to stay on the right track when no one is watching over them?
This week I have made it my goal to make sure they all know they are loved. I will make sure they all understand that I see something in them they don't even know exists yet. I see them as more than the smart kid or the annoying kid or the class clown or the kid that picks his boogers. I see them as individuals with talents and skills and feelings. I will do my best to only point out the positive in each of them.
This may be the hardest week of the year.
