In Quiet Moments

They do the right thing.

I've seen them silently review their own writing
Before submitting, prouder than they dare admit,
But too modest (or too cool) to acknowledge it.

I've seen them bite back that critical comment
On the tips of their teeth, when it would be so easy
(and so seemingly appropriate in this room full of of
cynics and sillies) to let it fly.

I've seen them praise one another
When the spirit of academic competition,
like a green-eyed beast,
insists they scorn.

When they didn't know I was watching,
I've seen them.

And I'm glad they flew my way
On their journeys to Ithaca
and that
Ceiling
Unlimited.

--Mike Thompson

Falcon Finale: LA Student of the Year 2006

"Who cares?"

Strange as it may seem, that's the question I ask myself when I try to decide which of the brilliant and capable students in the Honors English class will be recognized as the Language Arts Student of the Year.

"Who cares?"

• Who cares enough to do all the blogs and discussion posts on time even though the class is an extra-curricular course for which no formal grade is given?
  
• Who cares enough to let a genuine voice come through in her writing, knowing that everyone in the class can read it?
  
• Who cares enough to read and respond to the writing of her classmates (and sometimes her teacher, too)?
  
• Who cares enough to set the example that many of those classmates will follow?

It goes without saying that she is a straight-A student and that all of her work is of the highest quality, but this year's language arts student of the year has consistently set herself apart as one of the most mature and capable writers of the bunch. The words come easy to her and she shares them willingly. And, oh, that written voice. The light touch. The subtle humor. She leads her readers right where she wants them to be. Whether it is whale watching with her dad in California, making muddy buddies with her friend, or getting physically stuck in a dog house and having to be rescued by her mom, she has covered it all in her blogs, which are by turns hysterically funny and profoundly wise.

I had the pleasure of reading the continuing saga of her life and times as a ninth grader. I looked forward to a new installment each week, and I hope she continues her entries even after leaving junior high.

"Who cares?"

This year's Language Arts Student of the Year does: Hailee Cox

"Do You Remember Me?"

Last night--after a long day at school, a long baseball practice (I help coach a team of 9-year olds), and a long wait in the "express" line behind some nimrod who was paying for what looked like $5000 worth of groceries with an out-of-state two-party check and who had no ID to prove that he was actually the person named thereon--I found myself at the cash register holding my bag of ice. I'm sure I looked even grumpier than usual as I dug through my wallet for enough cash to purchase this single item, a last-minute necessity for some family affair involving the in-laws. Ugh! My feet were sore; I was tired; and I just wasn't in the mood to suffer any (more) fools.

Then I saw her.

Somewhere beneath that spotless complexion, somewhere behind those hopeful blue eyes, somewhere between the "kid" I was 17 years ago and the old man I am today was one of my former students. What was her name? A quick glance at the name tag told me "Melinda," but that wasn't ringing any bells. Then, like a mallet on a tubular bell: Mindy!

"Hi, Mindy!" I said. "What are you up to these days?"

As I handed her my money, Mindy smiled (no braces now) that wide grin common to all her family, many of whom have filtered through my classroom over the years. "You remember me? I can't believe you remember me!" And in the few moments it took to complete my transaction, I got an update on Mindy's educational goals and family plans. She's an adult now, but her sense of humor is intact, so she clearly remembers what it was like to be a kid. I left the store feeling much better about life than when I came in even though my feet were still sore and I still had an evening with the in-laws yet to endure.

To me, this is one of the good parts about being a teacher: meeting up with those who were once students, seeing them out in the Real World doing things beyond the classroom in which I remember them. Sadly, I'm sure I walk by plenty of former students that I don't recognize simply because they no longer look at all like they did when they were in the ninth grade. Some will approach: "Do you remember me?" Sometimes I may need a hint, but usually I'll get the name, and a sudden burst of long buried memories flood out, so that even as I am walking away, going back to whatever I was doing, I can't help chuckling over how they've grown, changed, improved, matured. That punk who spent most of his junior high school career drawing semi-obscene doodles on my desks is now a stockbroker? And he's married?! With two kids of his own?!! Or that shy young lady whose voice I never heard in all the time she was in my class has become a prosecuting attorney who argues cases before the judge and jury? Or that skinny kid who was forever teased by his bulkier classmates manages a gym? Or the awkward girl who slouched to hide the fact that she was larger than most of the boys in her class...Wow!

Not all the stories are so hopeful. Some former students end up in jail...and sometimes it isn't who I'd have expected. Sometimes I see former students in the obituaries. The suicides are the hardest to bear; clearly they did not absorb the lessons I tried to teach...or maybe I somehow failed them?

But most of my interactions with former students are happy, both of us glad to be remembered by someone who meant more to us than we dared admit at the time. And that brings me to the reason I am posting this blog so near the end of the year.

Chances are, oh students of mine, that our paths will cross again even after you leave junior high school. Some of you will stay in touch by e-mail. Some of you might think to send me a high school or college graduation announcement, a note when you get your mission call, a wedding invitation, or a new car when you get rich and want to thank your favorite teachers. (I can dream!) The question is this:

When our paths cross again, what will you have to share? How do you want me to remember you and what will you most remember about our time together in this virtual classroom? How will you have changed? What new adventures will you have to tell me about? Tomorrow's adventures are today's dreams, and my sincerest wish for you is that you have plenty of each.

Until we meet again....