Hazards of Love:1

I have a student from last year who taught me a lot of things. He had always wanted attention, whether that meant getting it from climbing on the tables, knocking chairs over onto other students, running out of the classroom or using scissors correctly (to cut his already short hair), writing letter-like figures or finding a shape in the hallway. He taught me that positive redirection every two seconds makes me want to hit the hay by 3 p.m. but is worth it because it changes stubborn attitudes and inspires loving the feeling of pride in one's self. He taught me to work harder to make the whole class work and that the word "activity" contains the word "active" for a reason, so plan accordingly. I saw a time in his life when his joy was depleted, and I couldn't figure it out, and then I saw him begin to write his name and count 10 objects and love himself. I felt a range of emotions with him, and I therefore treasure him as my student, friend, teacher. We are close.
I looked forward to seeing how he would do in Pre-K 4 this year, excited for his progress, but as he wasn't at orientation, I called his mom. There was a freak accident, she said. He is in a body cast, she told me. He can't go to school until October. Even then, he'll be limping. Hard news to hear. I worried. He would be out of school for a long time. I had seen how often he needed positive reminders of rules and routines to do a great job and how even a weekend could force us to have to start from square one all over again.
October came, and his new teacher told me my friend was returning. Before my students arrived that day, I was searching the halls for my most active, physically-capable student with star eyes and a silly smile. All other four-year olds passed on their way to class and, there, at the end of the hall was a taller boy with a straight face and burnt-out eyes. He was having a hard time walking and was holding the hand of an assistant. He saw me, and he tried to walk over, but it was too fast, and he almost fell forward. I went to him, embracing him and telling him he looked awesome, and I am so happy he is here. He had to be reminded he had a new classroom, and he was led away, chatting the whole time.
As my student from last year limped down the hall, beaming at his small steps and telling the assistant, "I can go fast," and she said, "you walk however you'd like," I hurried back into my room, telling my nose to stop burning, my eyes to stop watering.
Back in my classroom, I was greeted by my three-year-old student, a teacher's child who comes to me early and stays late, all-out dancing with our stuffed-animal bear to the Coldplay I blast in the morning to get my synapses connecting, and I thought, locus of control.
Teach for America does an excellent job of training us to think about our sphere of influence. What is in your direct control? You get a student for so many hours in the day, and it is your responsibility to make sure s/he takes away knowledge, self-respect, problem-solving skills. It is your job to make sure his/her brain grows and s/he leaves your class completely caught up and hopefully ahead, with a courage and desire to confront and solve any challenge s/he comes across. Those things are the teacher's responsibility, and there are no excuses, no exceptions. And then you get these students who are hungry or tired or have a list of responsibilities I might not even have. They don't get a lot of homework help from or time with their parents. They are in body casts and miss school to the point where teachers become frustrated with catching them up or explaining routines. And so there are some times when teachers can't cross the line, can't take on every student's every difficulty. But teachers have emotions, attachments, hopes, love. It hurts.
I spent a lot of time with this friend last year, hoping and praying that all he had accomplished and gone through in my class was going to be ingrained for the long haul. And I am not saying it wasn't. But it is hard to now watch him struggle similar to his early days of school last year and to think about the things out of my control: summer break, the accident, not being able to come to school for such a long time. And the things in my control: my work with him last year (maybe I failed) and the new group of students sitting in my class with attention spans too short to allow a second's glance back to see if a four-year old is limping or walking, falling or flying.
Running into students from last year has gotten me through rough days this year; their smiles and greetings and new accomplishments are candles leading my way. But to think of the future challenges I can't be there to coach them through hurts. I guess that should push us to focus on our locus of control; it should encourage us to invest deep in our interactions with our current students who we get to have for most of their waking hours and work our hardest to love and teach every second. I want to be there for every one of those kids; it's just hard when you feel a tug back from a leash.