May | 2017 | haliewanders

The sky was robin-egg blue, white clouds hanging lazily on the tree line. The green of the trees and grass was crisp, bright green – so green you’re reminded of rebirth and renewal and all things blooming. A couple weeks ago, we were up to a friend’s farm for a “farewell” picnic of sorts. Two years ago, we went up to this same farm for a “welcome” picnic. The only thing that has changed is everything, it seems. They’re the same trees, alive and swaying gently in the wind that’s picking up. They’re the same dirty-dumb-holler-dogs. The same tree swing, the same people… but circumstance has a way of shaping people and recreating them, in a way, like the seasons that bring sameness and change all at once to the landscape – flourishing, showing off their vibrant colors of green, pink, and yellows.

Two years of teaching finished, two friends moving away, three teachers transitioning out of the classroom. I’d like to say something sappy here about the fact that they’ll never transition out of my heart, or something to that effect, but the truth is, I’m already feeling their absence in my heart, and though I’m grateful for their lives and friendships, I also feel the ways knowing them has shaped me and I can’t help but feel broken.

I looked up into the trees, watching the parachute shaped leaves holding onto their branches. The bluegrass music played in the background, and I solemnly considered the soundtrack of my year. It’s been a tough year, and with the imminent departure of friends that are more like family, how do I listen to this fiddle and not consider it to be the most heartbreaking sound I’ve ever heard? A fiddle sounds, to me, like heartbreak so familiar you can’t help but cry.

Looking up at those parachute-shaped leaves, gripping the branch, trying not to let the winds of the changing season rip them from their life-source prematurely, I can’t help but relate. I can’t help but relate to you, little parachute-shaped leaf. I feel like sometimes I’m hanging on tight like that, too. Scared of what might be waiting on the shadowy ground below.

FALL

“Oh, in the drought of my soul.

Oh, I’m losing control

…But you stole my heart like a hurricane

You stole my heart like a hurricane.”

Darktober arrived with a vengeance. It seemed the steam I had within my frame, stored after the summer, was finally giving out. This election is killing me. This “argumentation/persuasion” unit is too much for these kids. I can’t even teach a term without someone asking who I voted for, reminding me that the media is biased, or someone yelling about “shooting all the a-rabs” (only one EXTREME example, mind you, but still, puts October and November into perspective for you).

Gosh, I love these kids…but it isn’t easy sometimes. I love them, but I don’t like them very much right now. I feel like I’m in the middle of a hurricane. Where’s the eye? Where’s the center of calm?

“I wanna wake my soul, climb the highest mountain

I wanna write my name in the clouds and never come back again…”

It’s now toward the end of November. The hurricane passed us, but now, the aftermath of destruction is evident in my classroom. Get me out of here. I need Christmas Vacation. I need “Romeo and Juliet” to be over so this year will be one unit closer to its end. I need a vacation.

I wonder when I can start applying to Graduate Programs? Peace Corps? Fulbright? I’d enlist in the army at this point if it meant I could stop being a teacher.

Man. I need out.

WINTER

“So I’ll get the lights and you lock the doors

We ain’t leaving this room ’til we both feel more

Don’t walk away, don’t roll your eyes

They say love is pain. Well, darling, let’s hurt tonight…”

A student called me fat today. Well…he said “your clothes are a little tight, aren’t they?”

My response that I didn’t say outloud: “your attitude is a little ANNOYING isn’t it? You disgust me.”

This observation coming the same week as a few comparisons to Hilary Clinton (my short hair naturally makes me a liberal).

How do you love kids you don’t like?? Christmas break didn’t allow me to do the deep soul searching I was hoping for. Christmas didn’t even give me enough time to process the past semester. I thought that eye surgery would allow me to LITERALLY look at these students differently. Now I’m scared of what will happen if I start to see them any clearer. Will I hate them?

Will I hate ME?

Love sucks. And I don’t know how to do it well. So.

WINTER 2.0

“Hey, I was doing just fine before I met you

I drank too much and that’s an issue

But I’m OK.

Hey, you tell your friends it was nice to meet them

But I hope I never see them

Again.”

No, but really. When is this year going to be over? My 7^th period is full of hellions and rebels and hateful teenagers and I’m seriously a JOKE. Why did I sign up for this? Where’s the wine…

SPRING

“To the ends of the earth would you follow me?

There’s a world that was meant for our eyes to see

To the ends of the earth would you follow me?

If you won’t I must say my goodbyes to thee…”

There are those moments, few and far between, when I remember why I’m here and what I’m supposed to do and why I love teaching. I heard some kids in the hallway today talking about Boo Radley. I saw a student who normally tells me how dumb “To Kill a Mockingbird” laugh at a joke in the book too mature for the majority of the class to comprehend. He LAUGHED. And then he looked at me and immediately stopped, totally committed to the I-don’t-care-about –anything attitude. Well…maybe I’m getting through to him just a little? I want him to think about a world not in this classroom, but he’s so stubborn.

“Look at you, kids, you know you’re the coolest

The world is yours and you can’t refuse it

Seen so much, you could get the blues but

That don’t mean that you should abuse it…”

We did a “mock sentencing trial” in class today. The defendants were Brock Turner and Cory Batey – two collegiate athletes both accused of, and convicted in varying degrees, of rape/sexual assault.

The kids got SO into the trials. They had to try to get their “client” the minimum amount of years in prison they could. Which means they had to convince their partner that REALLY the crime wasn’t THAT severe. They were guilty, but HOW GUILTY??

Long story short, every class thought both men deserved the MAXIMUM sentence. What they found out, however, that one of these men was actually already release from jail. They were disgusted. They were mad. Some said, “oh, of course. He was white.” (Not every student had heard of Brock Turner prior to the activity, and though we had rich discussions about the different types of evidence, they almost unanimously agreed that each man deserved the same punishment). Welcome to the real world, kiddos.

Hmmm. I am surprised at their maturity. Have I been selling them short, lately? They’re pretty cool sometimes..

ALMOST SUMMER

“And just like that it’s over, we tend to our wounded, we count our dead…”

It’s almost summer, and one of my students just experienced extreme personal tragedy, I have 125 students typing research papers, and I’m still trying to figure out what my internship this summer will look like. Oh, yeah, and also how I’m going to adjust to friends leaving…and trying to prepare for another year that leaves me desperately clinging to the promise of an “after teaching” existence.

But…what if there isn’t an “after teaching…” Some days I still feel like this is my life forever. “What if” thoughts will drive you crazy, but I might already be there. Doesn’t anyone have insight into this issue? Oh, no. I’m actually going to miss the kids this summer, too…don’t cry.

Oh, crap. Back to work. Lunch is too short. What the hell do they expect us to do with 15 minutes to shove food down our throats?

4 more days of school. 4 MORE DAYS OF SCHOOL. I’m tired. I feel like I’ve been through a battle or something. Left foot, right foot. Deep breath, you’re almost done.

To my left, that fiddle is still crying, but the mandolin, guitar, and bass are carrying on with a beat that sounds like a heartbeat. Charles, the man who owns this farm, croons softly for anyone who may be listening…

“Blue moon of Kentucky, keep on shining

Shine on the one that’s gone and left me blue

Blue moon of Kentucky, keep on shining

Shine on the one that’s gone and left me blue…”

I’m sad to see Aaron, Darrian, Colby and Katie leave. I’m sad to imagine a life without their presence in the room down the hall, or the next town over. I’ll miss living room talks, planning period rants, their wit, their joy, their encouragement and the love I’ve felt in their presence.

I’m also grateful, looking up into the trees. I’m Blue, of course, like the song says, but grateful, nonetheless. I wouldn’t trade this kind of heartbreak – that only the fiddle seems to be able to describe – for anything in the whole world. I look forward to Chapter 3 of living in Inez, and I look forward to hearing about all the other people Aaron and Darrian and Katie and Colby love enough to influence as completely as they’ve influenced me.

Winds aren’t the only things that shape and mold. Love has a way of carving out nasty memories, fears, and insecurities, dropping them to that shadowy ground below. In their wake, you get those parachute-shaped realizations, mid-descent, that you’re worthy of love and capable of missing people without losing what they’ve helped create. So maybe letting go won’t be so bad. You grapple with the realization that you’re forever changed, and linger in bittersweet nostalgia that burns a little like moonshine as it settles near your heart. Once the burn fades, however, you smile a little brighter and feel a little warmer as you remember.

“Blue moon of Kentucky, keep on shining

Shine on the one that’s gone and left me blue

Blue moon of Kentucky, keep on shining

Shine on the one that’s gone and left me blue…”

See you on the Fall side of Summer.

Halie