In My Arms


In My Arms

When I am in the front of my classroom, I am holding so many things. I am thinking about the lesson itself. I am making sure, as best as I can, that all my students are paying attention, that they are getting it, that they are awake. I am evaluating myself: is the lesson working, what do I need to change to be more effective right in this moment, what do I need to do tomorrow?

Today I am thinking about a student who has some serious health issues and has returned to school. Is she okay? How can I make sure she is comfortable and happy? Will she be here tomorrow?

Today I am thinking about a student whose grandfather is in the hospital. He is very sick. My student is troubled and hurting.

Today I am thinking about a student who gets discouraged so easily, but during class today she is smiling and excited. I am delighted and wonder what I can do to make sure the smile is there tomorrow.

Today I am thinking about a student who is exhausted, who can barely stay awake. I am thinking about one with learning disabilities. I am thinking about one who is absent. One who is stressed out. One who is relieved that our research project is finished but nervous about the upcoming test.

I am thinking about a student who is terrified about being in college in a couple of years. One who just got his driver’s license. One who is thinking about prom more than English class.

I am holding all these thoughts when one of my students is at my classroom door with her newborn son in her arms. I take him from her. I kiss my student on her cheek. “You look great, sweetheart! I am so glad you are here to visit!”

Then I turn my attention to her child who she has so willingly given me. He is asleep. He is unaware of all the other things I am holding when I hold him, too.

The baby’s mother, my precious student, sits down with the others.

“I have to teach,” I tell her. “But I also have to hold your baby, so you will just have to wait a little while.” She smiles. I wink at her.

Then for the next twenty minutes, with the baby in my arms, I sway at the front of the class, keeping the little one asleep, listening to his gentle cooing, peering into his perfect face. I quietly talk to my class about the Dickinson and Fitzgerald and irony while my student’s baby rests against me.

And I feel wonderful.

This is what I was meant to do and what I love to do: hold so much.

As the political storm that hovers over Kentucky right now rages on, I stand in front of my students, and I hold on tightly. I hold on to why I went into teaching and what keeps me from leaving—my students. I hold on to what makes me a great teacher—the genuine affection I feel for the kids I serve every single day. I hold on to the greater cause that brought me into this noble profession—love.

Just like so many other Kentucky teachers, I am hurt, angry, and insulted by so much that is happening in our government right now, led by our governor with his unfair and deceptive policies along with his mean-spirited and divisive rhetoric.

But he is not what holds me in the classroom. In fact, I will continue to work hard for my students. I will continue to love and serve them every day. I will continue to use my voice, even when it is quietly sailing over my student’s sleeping baby, to do my best to impart wisdom and strengthen skills so that my kids are ready to be adults.

And I will support the effort to ensure teachers are fairly compensated and schools are properly funded. Teachers are worth it. We hold so much. More importantly, our students are worth it. They hold our future.

Today I was blessed because of what I held.


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