I visited with a Sunshine this week. I had not seen her in person for a few years, mostly due to the pandemic, but also because of distance. I was able to see her interact with her spouse and their child, showering the toddler with love while also adequately conveying her needs to her partner. I am so happy she has found her person with whom to get through this thing called life-- where she can be her full self without fear, and have a different adult life than she saw most adults around her have. She loves big, which I am blessed to receive, and has a self-awareness that I don't often see in someone as young. She has grown so much since graduation-- she stands taller, and holds eye contact. And my goodness, she is a good mom: letting her child explore but making sure they can do so safely. I had to work to hold back tears a few times: of all the tests and other benchmarks we use in schools, the most important one to me is that my sunnies raise kids who struggle less than they did. She (and her spouse, while not a sunshine, fell in love with one, and so is now also mine by the transitive property of belonging) is exceeding this standard.
The pretense for this reunion is I had asked her to paint me something, and I went to pick it up. She's a very talented creator, and I wanted something of hers to hang in my space, partly as inspiration for kids, and partly (mostly?) as a reminder that she is who she is, and that I get to say I knew her when. I didn't have a clear design in mind-- I think said something about sunshine or rainbows-- and she took that and made me the most beautiful honorific to my 17 years as an alt ed teacher. I don't even have words for how perfect it is; it's made by her, for me, about my transition from teaching to social working, and she captured all of that, in a way words (my medium) just can't.
I don't really know what I'm trying to say. I'm so proud of her, but when she also shared the continued struggle before her, I knew it will take her a significant amount of effort to get where she wants to be. There's a lesson for me in this long lasting relationship, but for the life of me, I can't identify it. I love the kids (and adults) that cross my path unconditionally, and am happy to say that love is often the beginning of something else. Somehow, though, there's something here I'm missing-- something for me, to help me learn and grow to be better at my new role. Maybe that's what it is-- that I am back to being new at my job, and while I have learned a lot, the only way out is through. My best teachers may actually be the hundreds of students I taught over the last 17 years.
She agreed to a hug when I left, which felt important. Again, I had to work to not cry. So many people think I give so much of myself, and can't understand how I do what I do: the real truth is I don't know how to do it any other way: I gain so much more back that it's impossible to not go all in. I have learned appreciation for how blessed my life has been, of course, but also that I have made deliberate choices to amplify the good things and jettison the bad. That I continually choose kindness and empathy when presented with heartbreaking, easily judged situations-- heals my humanity more than it impacts anyone else. I've provided an example for one way to live and parent and love a generation of kids-- those in my classes and the many others in the building-- and visits like this show that it has impacted future generations. It's humbling to say the least, and exceeds my wildest dreams of what I thought possible when I accepted the alternative ed teaching job all those years ago.
Long way round, this was a reminder that listening and loving are the best things that can happen in a school setting. That without truly meeting kids where they're at, their ability to interact with standards is significantly hindered. And, that graduation isn't the end of those relationships, not if you don't want it to be.
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