Tag: end of year

Twelve Days

In 12 days, he will be done with high school. Today, however, he is sitting in my classroom during his “spare” period, trying to catch up on what he’s missed. He has his earbuds in, his phone out. He’s using one of my Sharpies to write a thesis on a scrap piece of paper.

He will not catch up.

I’ve known him since his first day of grade 9, and I’ve taught him English three times. Usually, when I say that out loud, I put air quotes around “taught”. When he was in grade 9, I hid the Sharpies and push pins from him so that he wouldn’t casually harass his peers.  In grade 10, I insisted that he read aloud to newcomers (which he loved) and tried to cajole an essay out of him (which he hated). Now he’s in grade 12, and during independent reading time he is (still) reading the book he started in grade 9. He claims he’s close to the end. These days, I can only occasionally convince him to come to class – and even then he doesn’t pay much attention.

Today, after a futile hour of explaining that a thesis statement is supposed to be about more than the plot of a story, and insisting that to create an effective thesis statement a person must actually read the story under consideration, I head to my office to grab lunch before my hall duty. In the stairwell, a colleague comments on my obvious exasperation and reminds me that, because of me, this child will (possibly) read one more story than he would have otherwise. He will, at the very least, write a series of (bad) paragraphs that are loosely related to one another. He will know that someone thinks he can do more.

I try to believe this is enough.

I manage a few bites of sandwich before the bell rings, then grab my apple and head into the halls. In the science wing, someone has pulled the handle of the emergency shower, so the floors are flooded. A VP stands amidst the resultant disaster, directing students away from the shimmering water while custodians run the shop vac. Around the corner, a large group of students talks loudly in the new bathroom; I tease that they must be having a bathroom party, and they laugh as they slowly move away. Nearby, a student sits against the lockers, their head tilted back, their eyes closed, creating a moment of peace in the chaos of the school day. A colleague pauses to ask me a question. Behind us, two girls chase each other, screeching, down the hall. 

Outside, the sun beckons. The lawn is dotted with dandelions and dawdling kids. Students fill the basketball courts and the athletic field. The year is so close to an ending that I can almost feel the hallways holding their breath. “Soon,” they whisper, “soon.”

As I walk, I remember the day my mother dropped me off at university. When it was time for her to go, she cried. “I’ll be fine, Mom,” I said, not sure if I was comforting her or reassuring myself.

“I know,” she sniffed, “it’s just that I have so much more to teach you.”

She was right, of course, though so was I. My student will manage something, and it will be both enough and not nearly enough. I will put away the Sharpies. The year will end. He will graduate. I will have more to teach him.

Summer looms

The countdown to the end of the year is on. In my office, it’s quite literally on the white board, which displays the dwindling number of teaching days that remain. Today we hit 10. Every morning for the past few weeks, I have walked into the office and panicked just a little bit. It’s not enough time, I think. We have so much more to do. I feel like I’ve only just gotten to know some of these students. I only now understand what will work best. We’ve really only just started. How can we possibly learn enough in just ten more days?

We can’t, of course, and though my tendency is to try to cram in more and more lessons, I know that I need to do the opposite. Slow down, I tell myself. Savour the moments. A few days ago, fellow educator Michelle Haseltine posted, “This school year is quickly coming to an end for so many of us. This post serves as a quick reminder that emotions run high for everyone…high highs and low lows… Saying it out loud to remind myself that feeling all of my feelings is ok. It’s ok to feel more than one thing at a time.” I wrote it down (obviously) because I knew I needed to remember her wisdom.

I tried to use those thoughts this morning, when I realized that today’s goal was going to be “Try not to lose my temper.” What do you mean, you’ve deleted all of the work you did over the past five days because you “changed your mind” about your topic? Yes, that is a comma splice. Yes, I’m sure it is. Yes, we are still going to read for 15 minutes at the start of class. No, you cannot leave class early. You will never randomly be allowed to leave class early. The bell rings; the next class enters; the questions start again. No, you cannot use AI for your essays. Yes, Quillbot counts as AI because it is, in fact, AI – it has “bot” in its name, for pity’s sake. Yes, I have already told you when your summative project is. Yes, it is next week. No, you cannot use AI for it. Yes, I really do think you can do it. Yes, you will have to read every day until the end of the year. No, you cannot leave class early…

At lunchtime, I want to fall into a heap, but there’s a meeting – the final one of the year for this club – and then a parent conference. And another class, another round of ridiculousness brought on, I know, by summer’s imminent arrival. Yes, I really do think you can do this. Yes, you will have to read every day until the end of the year. No, you cannot leave class early…

And yet, as end-of-year excitement swirls through the school, causing chaos, I catch other moments, too: the young woman who sighs deeply when I announce the final essay, then whispers under her breath, “But I really am a better writer now”; the student who is writing her longest piece ever about the day her father learned they would immigrate to Canada; the young man who has started so many classes angry, and who I now know how to cajole into a better mood; the student who tells me they are almost surely going to finish their 15th book before the semester ends. We have grown this year, all of us. We really have. I can feel more than one thing at a time, I remind myself. In fact, I think I have to. Summer looms.