The desk is worn wood, black top, piled with books, paper, memos, a laptop and sticky notes, but none of that matters; what matters is the inside of the desk like the inside of an adolescent. The inside of the desk is full of names. Not on sheets of paper and filed away, but names in pen, pencil, sharpie and highlighter each unique in time, space and style. The inside of the desk is full of the people who have shaped him as a teacher. Some of the names are small and fading, while others are bold and written more than once as if afraid of being forgotten.
He sits back, eyes closed visualizing his day; his current students. What new names will he have here, will he leave an impression in these new students like they leave in his desk and on him? His eyes open as he opens a drawer and looks at the names, remembering.
Brooke and Liz
A grin spreads across his face as he is reminded of that cold December day years ago. The class was right before lunch, a chatty class, mostly girls if he remembers correctly. He was reading Night to the class, trying to keep middle school students engaged by putting emotion into the text while reading aloud, knowing he was probably making a fool of himself. But the incident he was thinking about happened after he read that day. The girls were reading silently. When he sensed more then saw a note being passed. His stomach dropped. A passed note meant an unengaged student or worse two unengaged students. He put so much time and effort into his lessons that it was hard for him not to feel like a failure whenever students were not engaged. And these two being disengaged could be trouble.
He did not want to but he had to take the note or did he? Now he can’t remember did he take the note or did he find it later. He remembered seeing the note and the heavy weight of failure in himself; the familiar sweat when he knew students were not interested in what he wanted them interested in. The sudden wave of intense heat that spread through his body not out of anger, maybe out of embarrassment or failure. Maybe he got the note later, after class. He does, however, remember the note.
He made it habit years earlier not to read notes. Too often the notes told more than he wanted to know. He realized to be at his best he had to believe in each student, trust each student and too often notes with swearing, teacher bashing, and negativity crushed his trust, so he made it a habit not to read the notes when there were any. But he read this note.
At first he wished he had not, right away it had the same old negativity that made him break out in a cold sweat, and wonder if he should start browsing the paper for a new job. But then he read on and found the humor in it and now he thinks back and laughs, but it could have turned out differently.
December, he is still trying to get to know the students and they are still figuring him out. He always wished there was a way to get know students faster, to earn their trust. He always found it funny at the end of the school year when teachers could not wait for summer. He felt he could teach all summer; it took nine months to build that bond. But at this time, at the time of the note, he did not have that bond. So the note left him on edge, until later in the year when he got to know these two wonderful young ladies for who they were, and now it makes him laugh.
The note:
Liz – He is weird
Brooke – Ya, he’s weird , but I like him anyway
Liz – Ya, me too
Now he laughs because he is weird, and the girls were inspirational, leaving on him a mark with their name that signifies what hard work and dedication can bring.
Now he laughs because he is weird, and the girls were inspirational, leaving on him a mark with their name that signifies what hard work and dedication can bring.