Surprises

This morning in chapel I watched a fifth grader (a former student) wow everyone as she portrayed an over-the-top teacher in a skit. She's always been a wallflower kid, the type who answers questions with the fewest words possible, so I was surprised when she recently joined my drama group. Turns out she's a natural. Her character was supposed to fly off the handle at a student for forgetting something, so I suggested that she threaten detention or having to repeat sixth grade. She took it a few steps further: "No, that's NOT OK! You know what? You're getting detention -- for 140 days! And you're going to have to live in your locker! And so you'll become this small! And you'll have to eat bread and drink water for the rest of your life!...And, you'll have to wash your hands in your own saliva, and dry them on your pants! And you'll never get out of sixth grade, ever!" To top it all off, she threw back her hands and did the "evil villianess" laugh. It was delightful. (I am, of course, choosing to believe that she drew her inspiration from her own creativity rather than her own experience with our teachers...)

Not only is she braver than I thought, but creative, too. Today's performance was God drawing back the curtain a bit for the rest of us, whispering, "Here's a peek at what I see and value in her!"

On the other end of the spectrum, an unexpected encounter with a former parent brought a flood of memories with it. Two months into my first year of teaching, her daughter gave me a crash course in helping a first grader cope with the pain of divorce. I so clearly remember this precious little girl hanging at the back of the line one day, chin quivering. She didn't want to go to gym class. When I questioned her, she leaned against the wall, hung her head, and whispered, "I don't want my mom and dad to live in two different houses." And then the tears came in torrents -- for both of us. We spent the gym period back in the classroom, crying together. I bonded deeply with that little girl; my heart hurt as I remembered her today. I don't think I've ever felt the pain of a student to that depth again. I don't think I could keep teaching if I did.

Eventually, the year ended, and life went on for both of us. Over time, I learned that longevity in this profession requires a certain guardedness, one I sometimes regret. I wonder what she's learned over the past five years...