"Never Forget."
That's the translation of the title to this post. It is also printed on a picture of my 5th grade girls that was given to me as a gift today, the last day of school. The day these sweet gals leave me after having been in my class for two years, and move on to 6th grade and East Tipp. There were lots of tears (theirs as well as mine) as we said our goodbyes, and many hugs and "Don't forget me" from the children. The boys were in on the tearful farewells, surprisingly enough. They bravely tried to hide their tears, but the red, blotchy cheeks and wet eyelashes gave them away.
This class of eighteen 5th graders takes a chunk of my heart with them as they move on to the next stage of their learning.
What makes a group of children so special? Why do they sometimes come together in learning and love, make every day just the best it could be, and leave at 3:30 with laughter and hugs? This year I had just such a special group of kids.
Yesterday, the 5th graders and a few of their parents surprised me with a farewell party. I never had a clue as to what they were up to, and the planning began way back in April! Thirty-one kiddos who are good at keeping a secret planned and prepared, right under my nose. (They thought that was pretty funny; I feel like I should reassure their parents that I really, truly, honestly DO keep an eye on their children during the day!)
As a farewell gift, the 5th graders had bought a beautiful journal and then taken turns writing me letters of appreciation in it. And these letters were not just a few lines; no, this is the class that writes 25-35 page papers when they have reports or independent studies to do. So, the letters in the journal were quite lengthy and articulate.
They were heartfelt, too. And through them, I learned a valuable lesson.
I work hard to ensure that what I teach is appropriate for gifted children, that it includes creativity, and that it stretches their ability to think. I also try to make it fun. From octopus dissection to our medical simulation, Code Blue, we do some major activities that stretch over several weeks' time and require a lot of planning and preparation on my part.
The children mentioned in their letters how much they had loved those activities. But to my surprise, what really touched them, again and again, were small things (at least, to me) that were simple and required mostly that I listen or act compassionately. Little things that I did in the course of the day, things that came up unexpectedly, things that (again, to me) seemed minor bumps or matters, were huge in their estimation. And that comprised the bulk of their letters.
One girl reminded me about the note I'd sent her when her guinea pig died. "When Pigita died, I was devastated," she wrote. Then she continued on about how that note had made a difference as she coped with her grief. From my perspective, the letter was a quick little nicety to show that I cared, and easily accomplished. Yet for this student, it was what she wrote about when she remembered our two years together.
Another mentioned her sister, who is profoundly handicapped and has seizures, sometimes as many as seventeen plus in the short span of several hours. I usually ask this girl how her sister is a couple of times a week. And that is what she wrote about. Not the Science experiments, not the earthquake simulations, not the Greek and Latin we learned. No, just the query about her sister, and how that made her feel loved.
Once a girl who ALWAYS had her homework completed, had left it at home. She confessed that it was not at school, and said she understood that she would need to miss recess as a result. (Sometimes my students tell me what they think their punishment should be, and they are always far harder on themselves than I would be!) My response at the time was that everyone makes mistakes or forgets occasionally, and since she rarely did, I saw no reason to have a consequence and asked her to just make sure it was at school the next day.
A small matter for me, but guess what she wrote about in her letter? Not the solar ovens we designed, built, and then cooked in, or the New Year party we threw for Mr. Scrooge (played by Curt), but a small gesture of forgiveness from me about missing homework.
Student after student wrote about what I considered very small things. And yet, to them, it was what stood out after two years together. Two years!
I am still trying to wrap my mind around this. But I think they have taught ME, their teacher a lesson, through their letters. While the big things we do are educational and fun, what makes the most impact on a child is feeling loved. Those small, seemingly insignificant occurrences made a huge impact on these children. Personal connections, kindness, and caring are what really mattered to them at the end of the day.
Will I quit doing the major projects and not put so much time and effort into them? No, those will continue to happen as they are the academic experiences the children need.
But I equally believe they need more of the small and simple, the little bits of caring that I can slip into each day, the individual attention that says I love them. That is every bit as important as the academics.
Noli Umquam Oblivisci - never forget. No, I won't forget. Not these sweet children, nor the lesson they taught me about the importance of reaching out to the one through small and simple things.
