The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 71

Closing the Doors on the School Year

I finally checked out of my classroom today. The deadline was last Friday, but since it was a holiday weekend, I knew that no one would be in until tomorrow and I could put it off, this thing I was dreading, until today.

It is sad, to check out of my classroom. After the godawful situation of teaching our of the hell-hole LGI a year ago, this year was amazing, to have an actual classroom, one that I designed and decorated with multi-level tables and fairy lights and lamps. Students loved the room, even though it is the smallest room in the high school. They said it was calming and cozy, and they actually looked forward to coming to class, at least for the ambiance. Students were often in my room during their independent study classes and online classes, preferring the "coffee shop" atmosphere to the florescent lights of the library. A lunch crew adopted my room as their own, and an eclectic group of acquaintances became a tight group of friends by the end of the year.

And then, suddenly and with very little warning, it was over.

I miss my students. About a third of them are still participating in school work, and I get to see their faces in Flipgrid assignments and interact via Remind, Google Forms, and email. But two thirds of them have disappeared, taking about 150 of my textbooks with them.

The student pick-up for their belongings is this Wednesday. Although I eagerly volunteered to be a part of that day, once again I was not invited. I'll still be there, though, at the end of the driveway, awkwardly waving to students as they come and get their things, and hoping desperately that they will return some of my textbooks.

This was not how I wanted the school year to end. This was the year that I planned to rebuild my room, rebuild my curriculum, rebuild my mental health, and rebuild my relationships with students. Instead, it became the year where I broke my ankle, was publicly embarrassed by some well-meaning but misinformed individuals, was ghosted by people I cared about, and then dealt with the whiplash of a sudden closure of schools.

But it was also the year that I rebuilt my room, and my curriculum, and my mental health, and my relationship with students. And that last part --that relationship with students-- can't be diminished by the rest of the things completely out of my control. Although half of my eclectic lunch crew has graduated, the other half will be back in the fall. And those relationships with students --that's the part that I need to remember and need to focus on, as I wave to students at the end of the driveway on Wednesday. It's because of them that I remember why I became a teacher in the first place and why I will continue to teach, long after this pandemic is over.