The end.

Yesterday was my last day at work.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I didn't enjoy my job most of the time. For many reasons, it just wasn't a good fit. And then, in the same breath, I loved it. I loved my students so much. For many of them, my classroom and my school was the only place they felt loved. For those who have ever worked with low-income, minority, or low-achieving students, you know what I mean. My students were all three. I felt like I was their parent, and now I am abandoning them.

Yesterday, I was fine all day long. We said goodbyes, we laughed, we told stories about the year. The kids signed a poster for me and helped me clean up the room and pack my stuff. Many of them asked their teachers if they could stay in my room all day, and a lot of them did. I was happy the whole day, because like I said, I'm happy to leave that job. Then, the last bell rang, I went to the cafeteria to pull duty, and I just lost it. Not shed a little tear, but full blow sobbing. Of course my kids saw me and they seemed so shocked that I was finally showing emotion. I tried to be the strong, mature one (hello, I'm the teacher) all day and I just couldn't hold back anymore. I'm just going to miss them so much, in all their rotten, bratty, whiny, insubordinate, disrespectful glory. I also feel an enormous amount of responsibility and guilt.

I did what everybody always told me NOT to do: I took my students home. I worried about them constantly. Everything I did at school was for them, and everything I did at home to prepare for school was about them. One student in particular is a little girl who I also had last year (yes, that means she was repeating the 8th grade. We called it a "victory lap" like they do with 5th year seniors in college), and I'll call her Elizabeth here to protect her. I would have adopted this little girl if she needed it, and I'm not joking. I love her dearly and I'm going to miss her terribly. When all I could think about was taking the day off because I hated my job, I would think about her and get out of bed. Sometimes, she was the only reason I went to school. She wasn't the only student of mine that I cared for, of course, but because we had spent two years together, and because she was one of my worst kids last year and had totally turned around, we had a different relationship than I had with my other students. I remember the first day of school this year, when I found out she was repeating and I had her in my class again, and I remember feeling so comforted. Starting a new school year is terrifying, even for the teachers, and seeing a familiar face was so nice. We kept up the rapport the entire year, and when I told my class that I was leaving, Elizabeth burst into tears right away. I knew I was doomed.

The thing is, I really believe in these kids. I really believe that they are all smart enough to go to college, cure cancer and all that. I'm not just saying that because I'm a teacher and I'm supposed to. Remember that I taught a tutorial math class, specifically for kids who had failed a grade and/or the state math test. My school definitely didn't send me the "best and the brightest" as they say. Do you want to know what I taught them the last two weeks I was there? Polyhedrons. Interior polygonal angles. Plane geometry. Surface area of compound figures. Basic principals of engineering. None of those things are explicitly on the list of state standards I'm supposed to teach in the 8th grade (although they use concepts that are, of course), but they are on the list of standards for 9th, 10th, and 11th grade. My kids loved it. One of my students told me at the very beginning of the year that I was the first teacher he ever had that told him he was smart.

Stop just for a second and think about that. Can you imagine?? What if no one EVER told you that you were smart, worthy, capable?

By the way, I also told that student's father that he was smart, and do you know what he said, "No, he's not."

My point is, I feel terrible. I'm so sad and I've been crying intermittently since I left campus yesterday. I want to be the person that these kids can count on. They need consistency and a solid adult role model. I was that, and now I'm just another adult that let them down. That's why I was crying. Elizabeth will be fine. She really will. I expect her to send me a picture of her college graduation, and I bet she'll become a teacher. I'm so proud of her. I'm proud to say that I was a part of her life, even if I had to leave early. But I wonder about if I could have been to all my students what I was to Elizabeth. When we move to California, we'll be living in a much wealthier area with much better schools. Those kids, no matter where I work, won't be as desperate as some of the kids here. They won't need me. It makes me want to stay. Don't worry, I reality check myself quickly. I'm so excited to move to California and my obligations to Art exponentially outweigh my obligations to my kids. But it still doesn't feel very good. I'm still so sad.

I wrote a letter to my students, fully intending on copying it and giving them each a copy. In the end, I decided not to. I thought it would blur that teacher-student boundary more than I wanted to. I already feel like their mother, and I thought it would be bad for them if I made them feel like my children. So I'll post it here, because I want to document how I feel about my kids and my job. I hope my kids go on to be successful, and remember what I tried so hard to teach them this and last year.

My Dear, Beloved Students,


I have tried to send these messages to you throughout our time together through our work and your learning. Since our time is unfortunately being cut short, I find the need to say them explicitly.

You can, and you must, go to college. This assumes your graduation from high school. This is not what I hope for you, it is what I expect of you. It will not come easily, your higher education, but it is your right and you must fight for it. IT is the only way to ensure comfort for yourselves and your families. You all (and I do mean all) are capable of doing it. Believe me, you're ten times smarter than some of the dummies I went to college with. Your performance in high school will determine the colleges that will accept you, so take your work seriously. Study. Ask questions. Challenge your teachers (with respect). Do not listen to anyone who tells you you can't, because I have told you you can. And clearly, I'm the smartest person you'll ever meet, so my opinion has more weight.

Find your passion in life and pursue it. Do not settle for mediocrity or low expectations. Whatever you do, ensure that your whole heart is in it, or do not do it., This world is full of amazing people and experiences. Live it up. Celebrate everything. Do not let another human being meet you without leaving you a better person. Cherish your loved ones and give everyone second chances. These are the codes I live my life by, and they brought me to you.

You all can't possibly know the impact you've had on my life. You have made me more patient, kinder, happier, and more passionate about my work. You all have challenged me in was I never expected. I have loved watching you grow and I look forward to meeting the adults you become. Many people think I'm crazy for working with middle schoolers on purpose, but they don't know what I know. I'm the lucky one.


Good luck in the rest of the year and in your lives after.


It's been a real pleasure.


Much love,


Mrs. Bull