Life, Love, and Legacies

Today I watched the last student walk out.

Eight years of teaching, complete.

As I took down the posters, cleaned out the corners, cleared out the files, and straightened up the desks one last time, it was a very bittersweet feeling. These four walls have become a second home. I have spent more hours here, with its backward door knobs, crispy cafeteria fries, and oxford wearing students than I have at my own home or with my own children. I have laughed, I have cried, I have yelled, I have cheered, I have critiqued, I have praised.

I hope they understand the depths of my commitment to forego other priorities to go the extra mile for them one more time.

I hope they realize that anything worth doing deserves to be done well.

I hope they look back and remember the smile on my face when they entered in the room.

I hope they understand my sarcasm and know that it is most frequently extended to those who mean the most.

I hope they remember that a day starts best with a coffee from a place where they know your “usual.”

I hope they remember that stealing my favorite pencil was a terrible offense, but I would always gladly loan a pencil.

I hope they forever roll their computer chargers with an image of my flight attendant demonstration on the correct way to do so.

I hope they realize that I tried to get to know them because they mattered.

I hope the image of RESPECT hanging above the board is permanently tattooed in their brains, knowing that it is at the forefront of all appropriate behavior in life.

I hope they remember the days I let them vent, because sometimes you just need to get it out.

I hope they understand that even after you vent, sometimes you still can’t change it.

I hope they value the time I gave them a second chance or an opportunity to just have a bad day.

I hope they remember that good chocolate from the vending machine is a cure for nearly anything.

I hope they laugh about our endless searches for prom dresses or my genuine concern for the perfect combination of bowties and sweater vests.

I hope they don’t get Senioritis by October.

I hope they enter adulthood with a sense of satisfaction of the character they have created for themselves.

I hope they left feeling loved, genuinely loved.

But I hope more than anything I have inspired. Surely, I didn’t get it right every day. Maybe they didn’t get every lesson on literature that they should have, but I hope they have learned something about life, love, and legacies…