Teacher Admits She’ll Miss The Kids

This is my favorite day of the school year - the last one.

We’re 20 minutes away from the final bell - the one that triggers shouts of “we’re outta here for another year!” as locker doors slam and used notebooks bite the dust.

Summer officially has arrived.

My seventh-period, eighth-grade English pupils are writing their final exams. They have a choice of three topics and a total of 75 minutes in which to outline, jot down notes, write a rough draft, proofread and rewrite a final copy. They worried about running out of time, but I assured them they’ll all make it. They always do.

And they’re good kids - even the ones who have been in my face all winter.

I may even miss one or two of them.

Benny, eighth grade, first period, for instance.

Each morning at 7:45, Benny sails through the door insisting that if he doesn’t go to the bathroom right then, he’s going to have an accident and embarrass us all.

Invariably, I remind him that he will be the only one embarrassed and uncomfortable, and I ask him why he doesn’t go before he leaves home.

His answer is the same each morning: “My Mountain Dew has just kicked in.”

That’s when I remind him he should be drinking milk and eating a nourishing breakfast instead of poking junk in his face - particularly junk that wires him like a 100-watt bulb.

I know I’ll miss Shelby, 8th grade, also first period.

The very first day of classes last August, Shelby walked in and got me organized. She has been running things most efficiently ever since.

“I’ll do the attendance,” she informed me matter of factly, “but the kids have to sign up for their own salads and subs. I’m not going to baby them.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself, so I turned our first-period paperwork over to her.

She runs a tight ship.

“Pete didn’t bring his pen today. I made a note of it on your attendance sheet.” Or: “I checked the basket, and there are no papers to be returned. Didn’t you get our essays graded last night?”

Shelby is the personification of guilt. Many a night when I’d rather have gone out to dinner or grabbed a couple of extra hours’ sleep, I would grade essays instead, goaded on by having to face Shelby in the morning and admit my human frailties.

Second period, I’ll miss Sarah because she’s always the one who notices if I’m wearing something new or have done my hair differently. I had to learn that when she says, “Bad shoes, Ms. Schuett!” she means they’re “cool” and she likes them.

Third period, I won’t miss. It’s my class of wall-to-wall excuses.

Artie: “I did my homework, but I left it at my father’s house.”

Jack: “My essay is in my mother’s car, and I think she sold it.”

I assume he’s talking about the car. No one would pay money for his essays.

Ginger: “My sister’s pet goat ate my report.”

Philip: “My brother hates me, so he threw my paper in the pig manure.”

Fourth period, I may or may not miss Mark and Greg, who spent the entire year trying to sneak out early so they could be first in the lunch line.

Yeah, I guess I will miss them. They’re “A” students with promise and ability, and they’re funny. Kids who can make a teacher laugh are much beloved in this business.

I’ll miss Johnny, our chronic complainer who gripes about everything from his grades to the weather.

I’ll also miss a beautiful ninth-grader who still sucks her thumb while she reads.

And I’ll miss Jimmy - but not for long. He’ll be back next year - same place, same grade. He has learned the hard way that schmoozing the teacher won’t earn him passing grades.

OK, I guess maybe I’ll miss them all.

But for right now, I’m glad to see them go.

xxxx