sunshine

Spending each day with fourth graders is a bit like playing the lottery.  Every single day is full of a hopeful, positive feeling . . . like you just might "hit it big" . . .  and sometimes at the end of the day, you reflect and you DO.  You have a day that is filled with "ah-hah" moments, smiles and giggles, friendships that warm your heart, patience and an act of true, selfless kindness from one nine year old to another that reminds you what life is really all about.  And then some moments you feel like you lose . . . big time.

Today I found out that one of my students - who was just yesterday an active, happy, fabulous part of our team - isn't coming back . . . he moved all the way to another state, just.like.that.  No goodbyes, which feels a bit like a sucker punch, no time to process, just gone.

Admittedly, it is part of the "business."  Most teachers gain a whole new class at the beginning of each school year and bid those lovlies goodbye the following June.  I also realize that in my district, stability is the norm, not the exception, so we deal with this far, far, less frequently than teachers in some other places.

But!  None of that makes it any easier.  My kids at school are exactly that . . . my kids!  Sure they have homes and families and they leave me each day, but when we are in school, we are a team . . . a school family.  I have a fierce teacher-love for them that drives me to show up, work hard, expect the best, and hold them accountable, just like I do my own beautiful children at home.

So today when I found out that B left us, I had an instant lump in my throat.  I hate knowing that he didn't get to say goodbye, that my other 24 kiddos didn't get to say goodbye, and that *I* didn't get to say goodbye.  When I had to tell my kids that he moved, I might have choked up just a little . . . and then came the sunshine.

We made cards.  It was an optional activity during quiet time, but every one of those precious nine and ten year olds got out their best markers, creative ideas, gentle words, and chose their favorite colored sheet of construction paper.  They crafted, they illustrated, they cut, they glued, they wrote, they chose their best Pokemon cards to carefully tape inside in a selfless gesture of friendship, and one even made an elaborate diorama scene of our classroom to remind him where we spent our days.

After school, I sat down to read through the cards before packing them up to send on to B.  And I got all teary.  You see . . . the innocence and genuine love that comes from the hearts and minds of kiddos who care about each other is the most powerful thing on earth!  The words that they used to wish him luck, the pictures that they drew to illustrate how much they'd miss him, their memories together, or what they'd remember about him . . . they stopped me from feeling so gloomy.

Instead I'm trying to see this for what it is . . . an adventure in the road that is our collective life.  People come and go and things don't always and won't always feel "right", but they are . . . because they are.  There is so much we can't control, so if we can hold close the "things" that matter most, we'll always remember that everything is just as it should be.

Maybe B's job in our classroom was to make us stop to appreciate each other a little more, because by December sometimes those sweet little nine and ten year olds start to bicker like siblings trapped in a Yugo on a 24 hour road trip.  Whatever it was, I'm confident that he is on the path that was meant for him, and I'm hopeful that he is feeling content and comforted tonight, remembering the people he met only in September, but who accepted him exactly as he was and who shed a tear today when they found out that our moments together were fleeting.

So while I left school feeling a bit like I lost the lottery today, as I reflect, I'm feeling a whole lot more like a winner.  I get to go back tomorrow after all . . . and that is a stroke of luck that can't be discounted!