Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Walking into my classroom for the first time after summer break, I'm never sure what awaits me. The detritus from upgrades and waxing loom in stacks of desks, misplaced boxes, tangled computer chords, and grease marks on furniture, residue from workers who invite themselves to lounge without considering the greasy tattoos they'll leave behind.
I face the mess.
Begin the arduous task of repositioning the room.
Begin making changes to the room's layout now that the boxy old television no longer hangs from the northeast corner. Only a tan square and two small holes, the outline of the bracket that held the antiquated screen, remain. Maybe someone will paint the scar and fill the holes later. Maybe it will remain as a reminder of forgotten technology, a television considered cutting-edge in its newness years ago.
How do teachers turn the empty classroom into a community, especially when a cocoon of isolation ensnares our profession. When systemic power structures have little regard for any sense of fairness and justice?
Years ago, after my divorce, a student asked: "Are you going to remarry?"
"I don't know?"
"How can you stand to be alone?" the student stated more than asked.
"A bad marriage is a very lonely place."
I think about the good and bad years in my career as I unstack the desks and tug at the teacher desk in a struggle to wedge it from the floor where a veneer of wax anchors it. Last yer was good.
I'd forgotten I'd left all the bulletin boards up at the end of May until I walked into my room last week. One less task to complete. High school teachers rarely plan and execute room decor with the flair of elementary teachers. I covered the multi-colored film border in the southwest corner of the room with the new black and white polkadot border I'd purchased. I'll take the old and new down in a couple of years. I stapled poster edges and changed the border on my Nerdy Book Club bulletin board that's been up for the past two years.
In a few days I'll stack handouts on the front table, write greetings on the white board, review new and true first-day lessons, and paste a smile on my face. I'll swim into a new school year and greet students, shaking their hands, and thanking them for being there. I am grateful for their presence in my room and in my life. We will read poetry, stories, novels together. We will ask tough questions that likely will remain unanswered. I'll say, "I don't know" often because these days I really don't know. I have no answers. I too seek both the questions and the answers and am often only given silence. These students will be my buoys, and I will try to be theirs, as I paddle into the unknown that awaits them and me.
But if you see me waving...