On my first day of my first year of teaching English formally, one of my seniors took one look at my syllabus and complained loudly, “We have to READ in this class? Reading is for PRISONERS!”
That young man was his class’ Valedictorian. Despite (maybe because of?) his dramatic entrance, he proved himself to be just as strong and rewarding of a student as he was boldly troublesome (there is no limit to the amount of times I had to stop him from shouting “deez nuts” in my class). He also had, specifically, the highest GPA in English across four years, so I had the privilege of getting him the gift that would accompany the department award. Obviously, the only stop I had to make was at Barnes & Noble. Less obviously, I went to the philosophy section to find a book for him.
I was looking for something specific—The Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius. It’s a long poetic discourse written by a Roman official and philosopher who was unjustly imprisoned and coped with his imprisonment and misfortune by asking Lady Philosophy to comfort him. I had read the work in college during Civ, and it had come up in a long lunch conversation I had with this student. I ended up recommending it to him, hoping it could help him find his own consolation in the midst of life’s difficulty and in his search for understanding. There was no other book that could be a better gift for the award, both because it could arm him with truth going into college and also because it perfectly hearkened back to his complaint that first day of class. It was a bittersweet moment to actually be able to give it to him—it really felt like a full circle moment at the end of my first year.
I kept wandering around Barnes & Noble (my happy place), picking up another book for him (Crime and Punishment, to complete the theme) and a stack of books for myself, both as a pick-me-up and to remind myself after a rough day with the underclassmen that reading literature is still a joy to me—my blue flame, as Jen Fulwiler would say—and teaching it is still worthwhile. I picked up almost all classics, both for fun and to do reconnaissance and preparation for next year’s curriculum. I found myself cross-legged for an hour in front of the classics section, lost in the wonder in those pages that so few of my students would appreciate.
I expected to write a blog post about how insanely long my summer reading list had become after that trip, complete with a cute bullet-journal page detailing my overeager plans (that only an ADHD brain could think is reasonable for a summer), but didn’t have time to sit down and write it amidst the end-of-the-schoolyear busy-ness of creating and grading finals and research papers. Then, last night happened.
Last night was my first graduation at my school. It was the crowning moment of survival after a long year—that first day complaint was not an isolated incident: not for that student, not for that class, not for ANY of my classes. The seniors gave me a run for my money this year—and over the course of that, for all the ups and downs, ran their way right into my heart. Still, even though I had come to love them so much, I was caught off guard by how much their graduation wrecked me.
I think it started when the student I mentioned asked me for a selfie before the ceremony—or maybe when I told one senior that she was the first student I met and that there was no one better to welcome me to this school. Or maybe it was hugging the students who would skip Yearbook class and sit in my classroom playing Scrabble, accepting my forcing them to drink water, and talking about life. It could have been my student’s Valedictorian speech, or the photo montage of each kid’s freshman year photos.
I know it finished, though, when we sang a blessing over the graduating seniors and then returned to the church basement for hugs and last pictures. I was a sobbing mess, hugging each student and telling them how proud I was of them. I eventually escaped back upstairs to kneel in front of the tabernacle, sobbing even harder as I let myself be overwhelmed with the amount of gratitude I felt that I was a part of this community. It was suddenly immediately present to me that through all of my struggles and failures this year—as a teacher, roommate, girlfriend, and on and on, as we all wrestle with and fall short of loving the people we care about—God was pouring out His love and faithfulness over me in these fantastic, wounded, wonderful teenagers. I didn’t deserve it, but it was given to me anyway. I walked out of the church building happier than I had felt in months.
Teenagers, especially at this moment in time and history, are tough to crack. They are more like the plays and poems we read in class than they realize—behind some language that’s hard to understand and a seemingly blase facade, when you finally delve into them, there is magic and meaning in the stories they hold. There is truth and beauty in each one of them, and just like books, they will teach you how to love and that you are not alone in this crazy world.
So, Class of 2022, thank you for the lessons you taught me and the love you inspired in me. This story has been one I will cherish.
What I’ve been reading, watching, and listening to this week:
I just finished One Beautiful Dream by Jen Fulwiler, hence the mention of her frequently mentioned phrase “blue flame” earlier in the post. It was so heartwarming and inspiring, and can honestly be credited as the direct reason I started this Substack. I’ve followed Jen on Instagram since I saw her speak at FOCUS’ 2015 SEEK conference, so I’m happy I finally read and finished one of her books—and only took two months to do so, at that! (That’s good time for me on a book. Sometimes it takes me years. This page isn’t called Bookish AND Distracted for nothing.)
My boyfriend and I watched You’ve Got Mail for the first time last weekend, and it was absolutely fantastic. He and I emailed back and forth for about a month when we first met before we started dating, so we mention the movie a lot—honestly, it’s crazy it took us three years of dating to finally watch it. It’s also crazy I hadn’t actually watched the whole thing because I have never seen a movie that is so completely my essence. Kathleen Kelly is a style icon and is everything I want to be and more.
Also a Robert-inspired pick, I’ve been listening to Mark Tremonti Sings Frank Sinatra since it came out last Friday. Tremonti is a Rock guitarist and singer, and he recorded this cover of Sinatra songs to raise money for the National Down Syndrome Society in honor of his daughter. It is the most wholesome thing I’ve seen or heard in a long time.
All’s Well That Ends Well by the Bard was one of the books I picked up for myself. I’m kind of cheating here because I’m not actually reading this one yet, but I’m excited to read some Shakespeare for fun and am sure I will be talking more about it in this space over the course of the summer!
I haven't finished reading yet but I feel very called out by "complete with a cute bullet-journal page detailing my overeager plans (that only an ADHD brain could think is reasonable for a summer)"