No more pencils, no more books...

On hearing this, they were baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus. And when Paul had laid his hands on them, the Holy Spirit came on them, and they began speaking in tongues and prophesying. (Acts 19:5-6 ESV)

...no more students' dirty looks...

Yes, brothas an' sistas, today is not only the last day of school on the academic calendar, it's The Last Day of School for yours truly, the end of my day job (that everyone's been telling me all my life not to give up). Two more (well, one and some change) contract days and the teacher becomes the student (I'm pretty sure, though, that's it's supposed to be the other way around)...

I'd be remiss if I didn't share an end-of-year email that almost brought me to tears, the cool bird feeder pictured, the hug I got this morning from a struggling senior I helped across the finish line-- an 18-year old otherwise very reserved Hispanic boy (took me totally by surprise!), and the parting tract from a well-meaning kid on "the baptism of the Holy Ghost."  I must liken this vocation and my relationship with the students to having a pet-- today has the same pall about it as the day you act on the decision to euthanize a four-legged family member (not that I'm implying euthanasia for high school students...no, wait...maybe for a few...). It's sad, but I know that leaving is still the right thing to do... I don't regret my decision to resign at all, but, damn. They grow on you...

I don't really know what to say...thanks for everything. You've done a lot for me, more than you know. I remember my first year of Russian. I made a whole bunch of Russian greetings and spread them around my house, trying so hard to remember each word I think I made my parents go insane. I remember when you first started talking to me. You told me you thought I hated you because I made my Twitter name MyRussianTeacherIsEvil. I also remember our first dialogue and how "well" that went, but instead of telling me how bad I was you told me to have confidence in myself. And then, at the end of the year, out of all the talented students you could have picked, you picked me. Honestly, I still have a hard time understanding why. Even still I have a hard time understanding why you love me so much as a student. My confidence is still something to laugh at, but recently I've notice something. I have something to look forward to. My whole life I've never had something I've in passionate about, or interested in that wasn't a screen. For the first time I have something I want to do, something to think about in the future. I've never went as far as planning something for tomorrow and now I think that maybe, just maybe, I can do something with my life. I'm not sure whether it will be Russian or not, but that tiny bit of hope has gotten me so far. I've made friends, actual friends that are willing to help me through anything. I've been able to think beyond what I've always been told I just was. I'm even getting a job this summer in plan for college. I know that all of this seems to be a stretch, but just having one thing that I can wake up to and say "I can't wait to do this today" is all that I ever needed. So really all I can say is thank you. And l'm really going to miss you. I know this is a huge jumble of words but I hope you get what I'm trying to say. Best wishes...

When I read that email, I was dumbfounded. See what I mean? They grow on you!

The students who pooled their shekels to buy me the bird feeder also totally surprised me. Most of them were on my high school bowling team. Yes, Z*, my students always find out more about me than I would like, but they feed on ferreting out the face behind the mask of the superhero... Any little nugget of a teacher's personal life that lends itself to street cred (okay, so bird watching isn't the best example...) can help bridge a relationship with a kid. Anyway, I think it's one of the most thoughtful gifts I've ever been given as a teacher (and it's practical, too-- I left my two feeders hanging in the backyard of our house...oh yeah, we're homeless now...transient...looking for a bridge to live under until Saturday...see? street cred! okay, so we're really staying at my mother's house...).
*you know who you are

The little booklet on the Holy Ghost (the last section of which contains the "Romans Road" approach to claiming salvation and how to get baptized in the Spirit, including a primer on speaking in tongues) came with a DVD and was given to me by a mild-mannered, pensive, pious, and courteous young man who is a walking, talking by-product of a devout Pentecostal family. One day a couple of months ago he came into my classroom and walked right past my desk-- no hello or anything, very unlike him-- then sat down and stared at his desk (dark cloud visible over his head). When I asked him what was wrong he snapped at me (again, unlike him) and said he had just had a discussion with another teacher but that it was his problem and not to worry about it. After class I stopped him as he was leaving and we talked about good days, bad days, and those days you wish you could have slept through-- he was still obviously stressed. He strained a smile and out popped the very cliché and o-so-wrong one-breath homily: "God never gives more than we can handle, right?"

A teachin'/preachin'/out-reachin'! moment ensued... Then a prayer... (sniff! see how they grow on you?!)

What a day. What a year. What a balaniferous (look it up) gift (now momentarily contemplate the metaphor) I've held in my hands for the past 15 years.

(reverent sigh)

Two days to go, but, honestly, the count's gone out of me...