Rain dripped patterns of heartbreak on my window as I packed up my classroom. What was once covered in colorful successes and messy imagination now whispers a still voice. One by one my students embrace me, looking up at me. I kneel down so that I may look each of them in the eye so that I may tell them how I much I love them. How proud I am. How amazing they are. How they inspire me. Inspire me.
There were two parents who spoke words of wisdom as they helped me tape my boxes. Just two. Thats all I needed. Belongings that were used to teach became buried in a brown box with printed pictures of styrofoam cups. Precious belongings that my children learned from, loved and touched disappeared as I struggled with the folds, taping them shut. I could hear the voices of my children as I stuffed their artwork with handprints, crooked flowers and letters to me. Emergent writing makes me smile.
I clean each desk wishing I didn't have to wipe away the marker scuffs and I heart Just Beibers. Their name tags were weary and scribbled on. I find little treasure box toys and light up pencils in their desks. Things they won't want next year. They won't need next year. Only in my class. Just in my class. Their scissors were dull and their erasers gone from correcting their sweet mistakes. I loved their mistakes. I loved when they corrected their mistakes.. without my help.
I stacked their little chairs which once held their little bodies. They grew out of those little chairs. They aren't so little anymore. I sweep the floors which were once covered in dusty footprints and tape residue which had to be torn from the floor and re-adjusted everytime they had a growth spurt. I delete picture albums from my computer and I erase anything that may be confidential. I use Mr. Eraser, Clorox wipes and bleach but nothing can erase the beautiful mess my kids left behind. Memories.
Leggo's, manipulatives and science center toys are found behind large cabinets and tables. They were looking for those. Our hampster spins her wheel frantically knowing that a new home awaits her where she will finally be free of the crazy volume that would shake walls and break glass. I like that kind of volume. From them.
I empty drawers and dispose of empty pens and dry sharpies. I collect each push pin that humbly held hundreds of worksheets, accomplishments and decorated construction paper. Staples become stubborn as they refuse to let go of walls that colored the classroom with vibrant colors, shapes and motivational quotes. I dust my desk one last time and tape up the last few boxes. I sit in my squeaky leather chair and take a look around. For once, my classroom is quiet. Too quiet. Not so beautiful.
The principal walks in holding a stack of stapled papers in his hands. I click my pen and prepare to sign what every teacher fears. He presents these papers on my desk and pulls up a chair. " This is for the best. I didn't want to do it. I'm sorry" I read the fine print and sign my first middle and last name on the dotted line. He doesn't say anything to me. Instead he stops and looks at my boxes and takes one look around the room. I felt like a grain of rice in that big classroom. He smiled and walked out. I took a minute to reflect on all the goodness that happened in that room. The sweet smell of learning. The magic that happened in front of my eyes. The love of a child. The way I changed lives.
I finished loading my truck with each box with a strip of black tape. I leave my keys on my desk and turn off the lights. I take one more look. They say your not supposed to look back. I had to. I closed the door and kept my hand on the handle. A teacher walked by me and asked why I wasn't returning. I looked at her and said..........
Budget cuts my friend. Budget cuts.
If you think cupcakes are sweet... Try teaching. :)
