Last day of classes

Today is my last day of teaching. As a graduate student. I'll likely be a teacher the rest of my life, try as I might to swerve from my vocation. Its laughable, really, to think of myself as anything but a teacher, when you consider that as a 12 year old, in homeroom, when most people just desperately wanted to fit in, I refused to let people copy my homework and instead offered to help them do theirs. Can anyone say, nerd? Alright, I'll say it. I was that girl that hung out with my dorky, crazy-haired, nostrils-flairing physics-teaching homeroom teacher, and borrowed a purloined copy of "A Room of One's Own" instead of wearing make-up, or primping, gum-popping, gossiping with my cohort. I guess I've always been a bit out of step with my age-group. Meh.

Then there was the time that my creative writing teacher in Mexico told me that one day I'd be a great writer and docente. I still recall the perplexed look on my face, "not me," I claimed, "I don't want to teach." Nevertheless, there I was, just over a year later, pumping breast milk in a corner of my shared office, and teaching 5 high school classes a day, while finishing my last college class. I fled that first job, claiming to despise the profession, but one year later, I was back for more, sought out by others for jobs I never expected to love.

In any case, over the years I have come to terms with my lot in life. I am an innate teacher, I can't help myself from expounding on matters of interest while waiting in line at the grocery store, or haggling at the farmer's market, or sitting in a movie theater, having attempted to immerse myself in film-going solitude. There is little in this world that is more rewarding than the surprise notes (that are, of course, few and far between) from students whose lives you have touched, and who have reached out to thank you, or to tell you that they still hear your voice in their head telling them not to give up, offering an alternate solution.

So, this seemingly unimportant milestone is of special import to me. The end of an era. The beginning of a new one. How do I mark it? By getting up at 6 and making a tortilla española for my class because I promised them an authentic dish to celebrate and study on our last day together. I guess it wouldn't matter, you know, if I didn't mark the passing of our time together with some gesture of gratitude, or warmth, but, well, these kids, especially, were a particularly wonderful group of human beings. And I got back from them at least as much as I put into the class.

So, because I was on top of things this morning, I even had time to make my small person's lunch before she was up and about (a veritable miracle), and instead of the perennial stresses of us sleep-lovers, we had a lovely exchange.

"Why do I love you so much?" I call up to her, "Do you know?"
"I know," she giggles back down to me, and pauses for effect, "Because I'm me."
"Yep! I love you because you are the kindest person I know," I tell her, and it is the truth, "Because you're smart and talented, but you are always good to the people around you. That isn't easy," I tell her.
"It doesn't seem that hard to be nice to people."
"That's my point, baby," I call back up to her as she readies herself for the day. "I'm so proud of you. I'm glad I'm your mama."
"You know why I'm proud of you?" she replies, "Because even when things are hard you keep going."

That's my girl. She always knows just what to say to buffer the sting of disappointment and make me feel like it hasn't all been a waste. I think back to the last time I was left by a lover, and shocked and hurt and mourning losses that I had never dared mourn, I moped about my house for weeks, barely able to get out of bed in the mornings. She never gave up on me, and the motivational notes that I had left around my house, notes to myself to get some perspective and quit the self-pity, were followed up by sweet messages of love, in her child-scrawl. "Don't worry, mama, you have me. You have..." a long list of all the wonderful things I did have in my life.

So I get ready for my last class, prepared and fortified. I hear her singing "The sun'll come out tomorrow" from downstairs, and I can't help smiling. The next steps in my life are something of an abyss, but, strangely, I feel peaceful and ready to plow on ahead, trusting that the universe will be (relatively) kind to us. There is no statistical data supporting my claim, but I just feel that it is true. And that's enough for today.