There is no tired like end of year teacher tired. Most of us are just trying to make it to the finish line. We’ve slogged through stacks of marking and handed everything back. We’ve made our exam review packages and are carefully crafting the final exam to basically watch our students’ faces contort in agony (at least, that’s what they believe). Tag on to that the fact that we are basically dragging our students across that same finish line, and they aren’t always cooperative about it.
Meanwhile, our cup of caring is on the last dregs. You see, we’ve given you (our students) everything we have. We’ve taught you, cheered you, scolded you, shouldered you, cajoled you, chastised you, pushed you, pulled you and even shaken our heads at you wondering what the heck you’re up to. We have reached the point that we wonder if we’ve done enough, if there is more we can give, and if so, what the heck is it?
And then, there is a moment. When it happens, you stand in awe and sometimes can do nothing more than let the moment wash over you. This year’s moment happened as I left the movie theatre on Sunday of the long weekend (an unusual setting). I was headed back to my car and I heard my name, not Fatima, but that of my alter ego, Ms. Remtulla. I froze. The thought “was I doing anything un-teacher-like?” flew across my brain. A car drove up next to me and the young man in the driver seat said my name again. I stared. Literally stared. My brain sifted through the filofax teachers store of past students’ names. He said his name, and I was like, yes, of course. We had a lovely, yet short, conversation where he told me that his life was good, he was happy, school was great etc. He asked me about my work. He introduced me to his sister in the passenger seat as “his high school math teacher” and I beamed with pride. He didn’t have to acknowledge me or call my name, as I wouldn’t have seen him otherwise, but it is the fact that he did that makes it all the more poignant.
Once we parted, I continued toward my car and was completely bursting. I was so happy to hear he was doing well, that he was thankful for what I’d done for him in the past, that he remembered me, that I’d made an impact.
I needed that moment. I can now make it to the finish line.
Musings of a Mathlete 