The Last Time I Will . . .

For those who may not know, I am in the last semester of teaching.  After 25 years in the classroom, God is moving me in other directions.  Because it is mid-March, that means I am experiencing many things for the last time.  Some of those are fine.  I'll be happy not to conduct department chair observations or grade NASA essays in the future.  They aren't bad things, but I can't say I'm going to miss them.  

But there are other things that I'm sad to be doing for the last time.  God gave me training wheels for this last year when I was advising my last yearbook, so I am familiar with the feeling of being nostalgic for something while it is happening, but this week has been that experience on steroids.  I think it is because we are in my favorite chapter in 8th grade science (sound waves).  In physics, I am teaching many of the same students that I had as 8th graders during lockdown, and we have reached the material that I taught them from home.

Thursday, for example, I taught 8th graders about how our ears process sound.  I LOVE teaching that. Even though you will not find it in any physical science textbook, I set aside a day for it because I think if you are going to talk about sound waves, you should talk about how you interact with them.  (The same will be true in the light chapter after spring break - we will spend two days talking about the eye and dysfunction of the eye.)  I have honed this lesson into a perfect act, and I love doing it.  I love the questions they ask.  I love the weird answers they give to my questions.  So Thursday was a great day, but I was also sad because it is unlikely I'll ever have a reason to put on this particular show again.

I am excited about the new things that are coming in my life, but there are few things I'll really miss.  For 25 years, I have shown three of the episodes of From the Earth to the Moon to students.  I may have to watch them by myself at home next January because it just won't be January if I don't see them (I'll refrain from watching the same episode 4 times in one day).  When I teach the Doppler effect, I love getting in my car and driving past the kids at 40 mi/hr while holding down my horn.  If I do that after this year, someone will have me evaluated for mental issues.  A lot of what I do are things non-science teachers don't have an excuse to do.  

What is nice is that I know this is the last year.  I can savor these last moments of "This is the last time I will . . ."  The other nice thing is that I can now share this feeling with my kids.  Prior to making the announcement in February, I was having this experience, and they didn't understand the weird vibe I was giving off.  Now, I can actually say to them, "Well, that's the last time I'll ever get to do that" and share a nice moment with them as the people I got to do it for the final time with.

Awareness of the Moment

In the penultimate episode of The Office, Andy Bernard says,

"I wish there was a way to know you are in the good old days while you are still in them."  

I love that line.  It makes me cry every time I watch it.  (Disclaimer:  I'm kind of a sap, so everyone's last line on that show makes me cry.)  Nostalgia has long been one of my favorite feelings because I think it is really the gratitude we feel when we recognize the patterns of God's providence in our lives, so I totally love this sentiment from Andy.

Here's the thing; if you pay attention, you can know.  You just have to be careful to pay attention to the moment you are in.  I learned this life lesson from my sixth-grade teacher, Tom Dorrin.  Neither one of us knew it at the time.

The Teacher Who Changed My Personality
Until sixth grade, I was a crybaby and a touch-me-not.  We didn't have the word "triggered" then, but if we had, mine was a hair trigger.  Today, I might be called a snowflake.  I cried at the drop of a hat even if I had to drop the hat.  Say the wrong thing to me or look at me sideways, and I was that kid who would run crying to the teacher or my mom.  Once, when I was in college, I was babysitting a child who was like that, and I called my mom to apologize and thank her for letting me live to adulthood.

Here's where Mr. Dorrin enters the story.  At this time, sixth grade was still considered elementary school, so I had one teacher all day.  For this particular teacher, affection was shown by teasing.  If he liked you, he picked on you.  He loved me.  He had taught my brother and liked our family, so he teased me a lot.  He teased me so much that another child's mom reprimanded him for it at the conference for her child (I found this out much later and wished I could have told her to mind her own child's business).  You may be thinking, like this mom did, that it was horrible for him to pick on me, especially given how sensitive I was to being teased.  If you are thinking this, you are wrong.  This was the best thing that could have happened at this time in my life.  He taught me not to take everything so seriously, particularly myself.  He taught me that only people who love you will take the time to tease you; other people will ignore you.  I'm not sure I would have developed the appropriate personality for teaching middle school if it hadn't been for this man.

I didn't recognize that this massive change was being made in my life until I was in the eighth grade and had a chance to reflect on how I was different.  The problem was that he had left our school at the end of my seventh-grade year.  He left to work for IBM, which we used to say stood for "I've Been Moved."  There wasn't social media or even an internet yet, so tracking people down wasn't an easy thing to do.  "He'll never know," I thought.  "He's made this big difference in my life, and I can't tell him."

The Promise I Made to Myself
I was incredibly bothered that he would never know how important he had been in my life.  That's when I made myself a promise.  I would not let that happen again.  I would keep my eyes open for the impact people had on me so that I could recognize it sooner than I had with Mr. Dorrin.  I would be aware of their contribution to my life and let them know it as soon as possible.

If you have ever gotten a card or letter from me, thanking you for what you have done in my life, this is why.  As a department chair, I write notes to my people, thanking them for the work they put into a great class.  This is why.  My colleagues know that I consider our "Shout Out Meeting" at the end of the year sacrosanct.  This is why.  I cannot let the year end without you knowing the impact you are having on the people around you, especially me.  This lost opportunity raised my attention level, seeking out awareness of being in "the good old days" while I am still in them.

An Even Better Feeling
While I was preparing to introduce and thank another former teacher with my colleagues on Wednesday (read that story here), I knew that this was an opportunity most people don't get in their lives.  I rehearsed it a lot because I wanted it to be exactly right.  As I stood on the stage, I realized that I was having a feeling that is even better than nostalgia.    I didn't have to wait until the experience was over and look back on it to realize it was special.  I could take in every aspect of the moment and appreciate it because I was aware of how special it was as I was doing it.  I had so many feelings that it was like my heart wasn't big enough to hold them all.  I don't know the name for the feeling, so I'm going to call it "instant nostalgia."  This is my new favorite feeling, and all it takes is the discipline to pay attention.