Reflections on a Gift of Community

Tonight I attended my last English Methods II class--the last class for my undergraduate degree. For two years now I have had the privilege of learning and growing alongside the lovely people in this photo. 

That's our fearless leader at front and center. From that first feather circle in Literature for Young Adults, Dr. Cramer has worked to make this group more than a class or cohort by instead encouraging community. She did this by modeling the strategies our textbooks tell us to use in build community in our own classrooms, proving these methods work, convincing us of the benefits, and forming a bond that will last long after graduation. This little community in turn will expand to encompass the larger community of educators we are joining and in turn link the communities in which we will serve. 

Community, service, love: these are the reasons I decided to become a teacher. I thought I thoroughly understood these things four years ago. I thought I was ready to teach the rest of the world, too. The people in this photo opened my eyes to the fact that I had (and still have) so much more to learn. Then--slowly, gently, patiently--they began to teach me. Other than Dr. Cramer, I don't know that any of them knew they were teaching me, but they were, they do still, and I hope they always will. 

Tomorrow is my last official day of student teaching at my placement school, although I may just finish out the week there. I am grateful for all that my mentor teacher has taught me and for how she and her colleagues have welcomed me into their school. I will miss their stories and their wisdom even though my next school community will have its own share of these things. 

Most of all, I will miss the students because I know it is less likely that I will see them again, and they, too, have taught me. I will miss the students that all teachers miss because they are pleasant and hard working and kind. I will miss E, who reminds me of myself as a sophomore, and I will miss V who is an absolute spitfire and awesome in every way I never will be. I will miss K who is just beginning to emerge and P who by turns shocked then worried, then amazed me with startling depth and newfound confidence. I will miss the lazy charmer who always made me laugh even while frustrating me. I will miss J who has worked so hard to overcome such tremendous obstacles and who always greets me with a fist bump and talks to me about reggae. I will miss the immigrant and ELL students who prove every day that the stereotypes are wrong and that this country is strengthened by diversity. I will miss the fiery debates between Y and E and their contributions to my vocabulary and especially the memory of "Where I'm From" and "I am from la chancla."

Some of these students will haunt me, and I will probably always search for their faces in supermarkets and on crowded streets. I will see J's soft brown eyes looking up at me sleepily, brimming with intelligence and potential and an overwhelming ennui. I will recognize the defiant posture of that girl who always arrived late and left early and wonder if, given time, I could have softened her further, peeled back those layers, dug in to find the wound and help her repair it. There are so many more that will haunt me. They will not be the reason I burn out but the reason I strive to do better, hoping somehow to reach others like them. I probably will never know how any of my students from this year choose to write their life stories, but I hope I that I have impressed upon at least some of them that it is indeed their choice. 

I close out my year of student teaching with a full heart, reluctantly saying goodbye to some and grateful to know that others will continue to be part of my life and my community. You all have enriched my life and taught me so much, and I am eternally grateful.