I remember standing in the student union building at the university where I was working on my Masters in Education. By this time, I had a semester of student teaching and a two month substitute position under my belt. I felt ready to go into my own classroom and begin my new career. I was walking by a television where there was "breaking news." There had been a school shooting and the scenes they were showing chilled me and literally knocked the breath out of me. It was like a teacher slap in the face. I was ready to teach these children, to extol the virtues of Shakespeare, to argue the value of Salinger, and attempt to get them to appreciate works that otherwise they would roll their eyes about. I was ready to teach.
I didn't know that teaching was so much more than passing along knowledge.
In my first year of teaching, I soon learned how much more teaching is. It is about building rapport and gaining trust. It is about fighting for what is right, even when it feels wrong. It is parenting a group of 20 kids numerous times a day. It's about coming in early and staying late to help. It's about getting paid little money, but receiving great rewards. It's about trusting your gut and making the call. It's not about the literature-it's about the kids. New teachers love their content-veteran teachers love their students.
Once I realized this, it made the job so much more important and so much scarier. My greatest fear now wasn't not being prepared to teach or not knowing an answer to a student's question, now it was losing a student. We have been surrounded in the community around our private school by student loss, but it had not directly affected us. It was as if we were untouchable. Until now.
Two nights ago, I got the call. The one I have dreaded my entire career. One that I never want to receive again. One of graduates had died. No cause. Just 19 years old. A freshman in college. A life ahead. This student had not had it easy. Life had not been fair. She had endured far more than any teen should, and she was resilient, doing what had to be done to support her family and herself. But she pushed forward, hopefully with our help, but certainly with the faith we shared.
As I remember this student, the image I have in my mind of her is from prom...she wore a vintage gown, unusually to the knee instead of the normal floor length prom gown. It was a beautiful pale teal with caramel beading. She looked classy, glamorous, mature.
She was stunning in her own strength.
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