mourning change

red penI’m on the cusp of retirement.

After 31 years of teaching, I’m finally graduating to sleeping in and hanging out all day with my hubby.

I’ve spent the last week shredding all evidence of this long career, and I’m not going to lie, it’s a little weird. Why I’ve kept so much paper is probably a holdover from the years before digital storage, but it occurs to me that I’m going to have to do some heavy deleting on my laptop, too. Sigh.

I opened file after file looking for names and I.D. numbers that had to be destroyed, and I had a lingering feeling of loss,  even a little bit of regret. Each batch of papers that went into the shred bin threatened to destroy memories, too. It was like I was erasing a whole generation of students.

But that’s not the case. I have a lifetime of memories — and they pop up every once in a while as stories. Mostly unbelievable vignettes of students who made me laugh, some who made me cry, and others who…astounded me in both positive and negative ways.

I pray I did right by them. That I taught those who needed to learn. That I loved those who needed love. That I corrected those who needed correction.

That I saw in each and every student a child of God entrusted to me for a brief season of influence.

I know I failed often. I’m confident I succeeded most of the time. I know this because they did right by me. I learned from them when I least expected it. I was showered in love when I most needed encouragement. I made mistakes and they showed me mercy.

I’m a better person for hanging in longer than I ever expected, and richer than the lousy pension promised.

 

 

 

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