One Final Bond

After that last fight in my classroom, I swore that I wouldn’t get sentimental about leaving the teaching profession. It didn’t work out quite as well as I planned. As I mentioned before, for everyone twenty kids, there’s one that’s really cool, admirable, and relatable, the kind that, were the ratio even slightly better, make the job worthwhile. Once I became open with my students about the fact that I was leaving, I had a lot more students visit me during the final weeks. Once time was of the essence, students, former and current, finally sought out a bond with me. It meant a lot to me, and the relationships I built, even if at the last minute, were the type I had hoped I would form back before I entered the profession.

On that busy last day of teaching/my birthday, my student “Farley” (which isn’t his real name – it’s actually equally as unique, but even cooler) dropped by quickly after school to check on his final grade. Farley and I were never especially tight, but I wish he were, because he was a teenager I admired. He has a big moppy head of hair, the kind I wish I dared to try in high school. He’s scrawny and white, a rarity at my school. He fences for fun and his friends are slightly dorky without being nerdy. He shares my sense of humor, at least I think, since whenever I make my best humorous lines in class, while everyone else gives a puzzled look, I can discern a half smile on his face because he gets it. Also, he has an abnormally large nose, the kind that might warrant its own capitol, though I’d argue it adds character.

Farley wanted an A. He’s an A caliber student, but could get a bit lazy with completing assignments, a fact to which I could relate. I could offer him a B+ with just a little bit of effort on his part, but he didn’t see the value in a B+. Because of the weighting system with GPA points, receiving a B+ is no different than a B. Still, I wanted to help Farley, so I offered him a deal. If he wanted to do enough work to get to an A-, he could sit with me as long as it takes since I was going to be there for hours to come anyway. Farley agreed, and I was pleased. There aren’t many students who care about their grade at all, let alone enough to choose to give up their first hours of summer break to complete missing schoolwork.

For two hours, he completed assignments. Farley could have finished in at least half the time had we not been chatting throughout. It was nice conversation no less, about hobbies and aspirations, and not once did he course me out! Since he has a good head for literature, I encouraged him to major in English in college – is it selfish of me to hope at least one good kid is inspired to follow in my footsteps? (Not all the way to teaching, though, that’s too far.) Alas, Farley admit that he really likes math more than anything, so he thinks he’ll be an engineer. Oh, like the world needs another engineer, a discipline with practical applications and occupations. I pity him, I tell you what. I wanted to tell Farley, “You think you like math, just wait until you reach calculus,” but I’d rather upkeep my image of a supportive mentor. I made him to promise to take at least a couple of literature classes in a setting where he could have intellectual discourse and not a series of obvious or off-topic comments.

We also ripped on some of his peers in a way that really wouldn’t have been appropriate had I still been a teacher at that point. All right, so it wasn’t exactly appropriate then, either, but it would be far too late to fire me. It’s nice to have someone corroborate my opinions from a perspective on the other end of the classroom.

Every twenty minutes or so, Farley’s friends would call to check on him. He had plans to meet with them after school, and as he was increasingly tardy, they harassed and teased him more. A nice teacher might have said, “I admire your commitment, don’t worry aobut the work I’ll barely glance at anyway. I’ll give you an A, go be with your friends.” Instead, a selfish teacher like myself, realizing I had a lot of time to kill anyway, enjoyed his company so much that I offered him no additional favors to get him out of there sooner. Farley clearly didn’t mind either, because even when he was done, he straggled a bit. He watched me enter some grades, and we discussed the bizarre array of comments available to teachers to put on the report cards. Allowing him to select his own comments from me, Farley was particularly drawn to “Does not dress out for P.E.” and “Does not follow lab safety rules.” See, I told you he has a similar sense of humor.

Before Farley left, he asked if he could have my email address, “in case he had any questions or something.” It was his awkward way of indirectly indicating he wanted to keep in touch; I couldn’t have done it better myself. Naturally, I obliged and encouraged him to do just that. He hasn’t emailed yet (not that I’m constantly hitting the refresh button on my inbox or anything), but that’s understandable, as I can’t imagine what I’d say from his position. Hell, I can’t imagine what I’d say in my position. “Stay in school. Follow your dreams. Earn you’re A- before summer break next time. Adhere to the lab safety rules.” If I was feeling brazen, I might admit that Farley were my peer and not my student, I’d hope to be his friend.

I believe that more positive interactions like this one might have coaxed me into staying. Maybe I don’t want to teach, maybe I’d rather mentor kids like Farley, even if he doesn’t dress out for P.E. As one last joke, I ended up including that comment on his report card, actually. I’d bet that I’m the only English teacher to have used that comment; similarly, Farley might be the only student to get it.