Bitter Sweet Graduation
I've tweeted, I've FB statussed (not a verb, I know) and I've had lots of conversations about this. I'm going all digital maudlin, but once I get it out of my system, I'll be done. I'll move on. I promise.
But for this post, I'm going to have to write about what it's like teaching for 25 years and saying good-bye to anywhere from 100 to (yesterday) 183 kids every year. Do the math. For me that's around 4000 students, many of whom I've taught at least once or twice not to mention being with some of them through extra-curricular activities and field trips.
Imagine building a relationship with a number of these kids and then 4 or 5 years later, they walk across a stage, grab a diploma and off they go into the bright or dark or gray unknown. A few of them break away from their friends and family to thank you; and then you don't see most of them... ever again. And 25 years later, how many of them can you possibly remember?
Yesterday after our staff grad party -- and after a couple of glasses of wine -- on our ride home my car pool friend and I were getting sentimental. Go figure. The conclusion we came to is that graduation feels like a mini death. Because, like I said above, you get pretty close to some of these kids. I spent an hour and fifteen minutes almost every day for five months with my grade 12's this past semester. And then one hazy night in June, they're gone.
Another way of looking at it is that it's like some crazy Twilight Zone thing where we teachers have been in school since we were 4-yrs old. Other kids come and go, but we never leave. Kind of like the fountain of youth in Tuck Everlasting.
It's the little things in life that stick for me. One day in this class I was sick with a nasty cough, but I had dragged myself in because my seniors were doing work that I felt I couldn't leave for a supply teacher. At one point, I was hacking and wheezing. A student leaned over so just I could hear him say, "Can I get you something? Some water?" I know it's seemingly trivial, but for me it's a reminder of why my job as a high school teacher is so awesome. At the end of the day, if I do my work well as a teacher, I'm connecting with other human beings in ways that are sometimes sublime sometimes mundane sometimes profound sometimes ridiculous and for me always beautiful.
This young man who was offering me water... we could be friends. He's one of the several who was struck with the thought -- during the immediate post-grad celebration with friends and family -- to walk over to yours truly, shake his hand and thank him for being his teacher.
This is all the stranger still for me because this might be the last class I will ever have taught. Next year I'm taking a consulting position so I'll be out of the classroom. So in some ways it feels like a retirement from a vocation in which I've had the privilege to both touch and be touched by other lives. But I know that's not entirely the case.
How to conclude? Life is good. My life is good. If I've come off whining, I never meant to. I'm very blessed with my life and where i think it's going.
A good friend was recently let go from teaching at a college. Downsizing. He's fifty-something -- I mention this because he and his wife could be bitter and defeated. But their attitude is one of faith, anticipation and adventure.
So in the spectrum of what one might consider loss, I think what I've experienced doesn't really qualify. So let's call it a painful sweet graduation.
But for this post, I'm going to have to write about what it's like teaching for 25 years and saying good-bye to anywhere from 100 to (yesterday) 183 kids every year. Do the math. For me that's around 4000 students, many of whom I've taught at least once or twice not to mention being with some of them through extra-curricular activities and field trips.
Imagine building a relationship with a number of these kids and then 4 or 5 years later, they walk across a stage, grab a diploma and off they go into the bright or dark or gray unknown. A few of them break away from their friends and family to thank you; and then you don't see most of them... ever again. And 25 years later, how many of them can you possibly remember?
Yesterday after our staff grad party -- and after a couple of glasses of wine -- on our ride home my car pool friend and I were getting sentimental. Go figure. The conclusion we came to is that graduation feels like a mini death. Because, like I said above, you get pretty close to some of these kids. I spent an hour and fifteen minutes almost every day for five months with my grade 12's this past semester. And then one hazy night in June, they're gone.
Another way of looking at it is that it's like some crazy Twilight Zone thing where we teachers have been in school since we were 4-yrs old. Other kids come and go, but we never leave. Kind of like the fountain of youth in Tuck Everlasting.
It's the little things in life that stick for me. One day in this class I was sick with a nasty cough, but I had dragged myself in because my seniors were doing work that I felt I couldn't leave for a supply teacher. At one point, I was hacking and wheezing. A student leaned over so just I could hear him say, "Can I get you something? Some water?" I know it's seemingly trivial, but for me it's a reminder of why my job as a high school teacher is so awesome. At the end of the day, if I do my work well as a teacher, I'm connecting with other human beings in ways that are sometimes sublime sometimes mundane sometimes profound sometimes ridiculous and for me always beautiful.
This young man who was offering me water... we could be friends. He's one of the several who was struck with the thought -- during the immediate post-grad celebration with friends and family -- to walk over to yours truly, shake his hand and thank him for being his teacher.
This is all the stranger still for me because this might be the last class I will ever have taught. Next year I'm taking a consulting position so I'll be out of the classroom. So in some ways it feels like a retirement from a vocation in which I've had the privilege to both touch and be touched by other lives. But I know that's not entirely the case.
How to conclude? Life is good. My life is good. If I've come off whining, I never meant to. I'm very blessed with my life and where i think it's going.
A good friend was recently let go from teaching at a college. Downsizing. He's fifty-something -- I mention this because he and his wife could be bitter and defeated. But their attitude is one of faith, anticipation and adventure.
So in the spectrum of what one might consider loss, I think what I've experienced doesn't really qualify. So let's call it a painful sweet graduation.
Mr. Maiolo,
ReplyDeleteI stumbled upon your link to this post via Facebook and I must say, there is not one ounce of whining here. It was interesting for me to read this for two specific reasons. One, I was once your student and you inspired me to become an English teacher. Two, I am now an English teacher and five years into my career I've already begun to feel these bittersweet emotions at graduation. I am so proud of my students, yet so sad to see many of them go. In describing your interactions with students you say that they are "sometimes sublime sometimes mundane sometimes profound sometimes ridiculous and for me always beautiful" and I couldn't share this sentiment more. You are a fantastic teacher and have touched so many lives. Best of luck in September! You will be great.
Mr.Maiolo you were one of the most amazing teachers at Eden! You're humour was always appreciated and the way you treated us a people didn't go unnoticed :) I want to thank you personally for all the work that you've put into your job and you will truly be missed. I regret that I couldn't find you after graduation to thank you for the beautiful words you wrote about me for my award, so thank you very much for what you said and it was forever be imprinted on my heart :) You were an amazing teacher and I wish you all the best at the DSBN!
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