A side effect of living a life focused on gratitude is a propensity to interpret even the simplest interactions as profound.I find myself inspired, overcome, or astounded by events that would not even have registered as memorable before I chose this optimistic mindset. But some occurrences are obviously-powerfully-gobsmackingly affecting....
At the end of each school year, I strip my class walls to prep for the next year. So it was that Laura, one of my 8th graders a couple of years ago, teasingly griped that I was about to throw away a homemade Christmas card she has drawn for me and which hung behind my desk. Wordlessly, I reached into my cupboard for the 3-ring binder into which I move all keepsakes, cards, and treasures. From every student. Ever. Back to my days of driving a bus.
Together, we leafed through the years. I mount everything on cardstock or construction paper,. Even add notes and marginal scrawls, stars and underlining. Maybe make notes to remember funny episodes or special stories. Doodle--sketch--add in names if the student left it off.
"You keep all of these--why?" she asked wonderingly, eyes a little wide and voice rising steadily.
To hold onto memories, I told her. And to read over from time to time. To cheer me up on bad days. To remind me that what I do is more than just grammar and reading comprehension.
Then she flipped to the last page, the end of the previous year's submissions. Laura was in my class for both 7th and 8th grade--and she had forgotten about the "thanks for being my teacher" letter she'd written me during Teacher Appreciation Week at the end of 7th grade. So she traced it with her finger as she read the words her younger self had written, smiled at me, and closed the binder to hand it back.
That was when she saw the lable on the spine. The title.
I have binders for lesson plans. For ESL records. For training. For professional development. For safety units. For ordering books and supplies. To track student progress during and between years.
They are all labeled so I can find them. Right there on the spine.
This one? "Inspiration"
Well, "inspiration" can be a big word to a student with only a basic English vocabulary. But to Laura--whose first language is Spanish--it has a direct cognate--the word "inspiracion."
Sharp intake of breath. Lower lip trembling. Eyes blinkblinkblinking rapidfire as tears gather.
"Inspiration-me?"
I smiled and nodded, reshelved while she wiped at her eyes.
She sobbed and laughed at the same time. Caught by surprise by the dawning realization that her words mattered. A sledgehammer of feeling when she realized that something she said can change someone's life, that she could be a source of inspiration. That she had created a connection of meaning and purpose and admiration.
We had only a few days left of the school year. Laura begged a dozen or so sheets of construction paper from my class stock. Folded each in half, decorated and designed them and made cards and letters. For teachers, for friends. She ended her year in a riot of celebration of others. Her eyes and heart had been opened to the lasting power of her words.
How could I ask for better memories than these gifted by my students?
