In Lubec, Maine, at the border of Canada way north and east, the tides are high. Tides come in and go out, 20, 22, 25 feet high. The tides are regular, sweeping in and out at known intervals. The docks go up as the tide rises and the docks slide down. The shoreline's rocks are exposed and then the rocks are covered up. On and on, in and out, the rhythm is there. The occasional gale may bring a tide in further or a full moon may inch it back more than normal, but even those events can be predicted ahead of time. There's a rhythm, and you adjust to it and live by it.
Life by the sea has a rhythm all its own. We look to the sea, where is the water, what is it doing, and then we act in concert with it.
A classroom is like that. Kids sweep in and they go out, they clamor and then they are quiet. The grow, their growth is remarked on, they grow some more. They smile, they laugh, they celebrate birthdays and milestones. We do all this together in closed system of learning and love, the teachers and the kids. The emotions present are shared by all, the symbiotic nature of the family-like atmosphere knits us all together for a long period, 9 months. We yearn to see each other, we can tell when they are feeling low, they notice when we have a new haircut or wear a new shirt.
They say quirky things like "Can I smell your necklace?" and they trumpet a lost tooth or their dog's birthday. Even those outpourings are predicted, they are kids after all, and they will always say and do the unexpected. It's expected.
And for their part, they know we will be there. We are steady adults in their lives, a pillar, a mainstay, a stalwart lighthouse, shining the way. We are the rock on the shoreline of their ebb and flow, love propelling the tide to come in and wash up gently on the shores of their hearts.
They know we will be there. They know the school calendar is set in stone. They know that no matter what, they can swirl around us as they enter at first bell or at recess, their chaos of foam and surf will never wash us away. We will be there. Their hearts are anchored in the classroom to which they have been assigned. The rhythm is the biggest part of their day. The biggest part of their week. The biggest part of their year. We can't dwell together in an enclosed space for the better part of the day and not be knit together like a family of sorts. So we allow it, they infiltrate our hearts like the salt on our skin at the end of a day at the beach. And we love it.
As the end of the school year approaches, we see the tide going out and we let it go out. We start the gentle disengaging process, unwrapping, unknitting, as the last day approaches but never fully letting go. We prepare our minds and hearts and the kids, for the inevitable moment when we day goodbye and push them out of the nest, to fly to the next nest where the receiving teacher, after the summer, will begin the rhythmic process all over again, And again the kids will be cherished, loved, turned into a school family in the classroom and their tides will ebb and flow.
But one day, we sent them home for the weekend...and we never received them back. The school calendar crumbled, the bells went silent, the doors were closed. The tide went out...and disappeared. Where is the water? How dry we are! Where are the children? How quiet it is!
The sudden chopping off of the love and learning rhythm is like an amputation. We feel the echo of the limb that used to be there, the phantom limb pain of what should be connected but is not. The tearing away of the precious rhythm is as if the very flesh of our hearts is shredded. There will be no chance to gently disentangle and tenderly prepare them and us for the goodbye. There will be no mellow sunset of the school year and parting of ways. There will be no singing goodbye songs from the teachers as the last bus rolls away. Instead, we are bleeding from torn limbs, crying with pain for the little faces we can't say goodbye to in person and for the hearts we can't prepare.
It must be this way, it's a rule and a law and something for everyone's good. No question about that. But this unique school year, this dreadful time, is a hardship no one could have predicted. It will leave a mark on many thousands of teacher hearts, as we all absorb this news that the school year has unexpectedly ended. The grief of an unsaid goodbye leaves a hole that nothing can fill.
1 comment:
This was poignant and lovely. I'm glad to know teachers feel this way about their students...I see so many products with clever sayings on them for teachers that paint a different picture, and it always makes me sad for the kids who have to spend the majority of their year with someone who teaches because of June, July and August.
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