At the End of the Day (Day 35)

... they're not my kids.

I've said it time and again to anyone who would listen that my seventh graders ARE my kids.

I don't have any of my own children. My ex and I tried... well... I'm not going there in this post. We wanted children. When I got a divorce eleven years into the marriage, I was thankful we did not have children who would have divorced parents. My next (and last) husband was thankful, as well! His are grown adults, and he was glad he wouldn't have to be a live-in parent once again. (He says he was too old.)

Anyway...
I love what I do. Call it a passion if you'd like. I never envisioned myself teaching. I never really thought I'd want to be with seventh graders all day. I have always had a passion for reading, and in the last ten or so years, for writing as well. One thing I love is getting my kids passionate about reading and writing also. I pride myself in knowing who my students are, matching them up with books that will hold their attention, and figuring out what they love (and what they hate).  Looking at their faces every day, I learn who they are inside and build those relationships that make me smile and cry. I love noticing how they react to certain things, how they give me funny looks, and how they blurt out things I never thought I'd hear. Oh, the laughter my middle schoolers provide me. Oh, the range of emotions when one day they love me and the next I'm getting serious glares. They've taught me patience and kept me young.

These seventh graders are entrusted to us each day - I only get them for eighty minutes a day, but that's double the other teachers at my school. I am with them 400 minutes per week, and I really get to know them. They hold my heart in their hands, and I hold them close to me. I've tried to instill a love of learning in them. I haven't been able to see a handful at ALL during this remote learning. They've been doing other school work, but I guess I've failed in my mission for some of them. Then it finally happened here in Illinois... We learned today that we won't be seeing them in person the rest of this school year. My heart has broken multiple times since school closed March 13.

I've always thought - and shared - that my students ARE my children.

I would take any of them any day.

I would get bothered when some teachers would share they teach better now that they have their own children.

I would get angry when some teachers would share that you can't really know how to teach until you have children of your own.

I actually used to think I may teach better than teachers who are parents would, since I do have that "extra time" at home to plan and create and...

This thinking - that my seventh graders are my kids - really bogged me down the last four weeks of this remote / distance / crisis learning. I was so worried about their mental health, their physical health, their overall well being, their skills, their checking in (or not) with me.

Then it hit me at the end of the day. When I close the computer for the day, putting aside their writing, their comments, their questions, their hope - "See you soon!" ... I feel better. I immediately feel better each day when I close the computer and tried to put thoughts of them behind me. I realized why.

At the end of the day, they're NOT my children.
They're someone else's responsibility.
Someone out there loves them more than I do. More than I can.

I've done what I can do.
It's all I can do.
I'll keep doing all I can do, but at the end of the day... they're not my children.
It's not all on me.
When I close my computer for the day, the only ones I need to worry about are precious members of my own family.

Be strong, parents.
You know your own children.
You've got this.
Let me know when I can help.