37 To Go: The Ones I'll Miss the Most

If every day of my life were spent teaching children, then every day of my life would be a happy day. In nothing have I found more of a calling than in being a teacher. In no one’s eyes do I see myself perfectly reflected as I do in the eyes of children. No distortions. No questions. Just where I’m meant to be. Through those eyes I am meant to be seen.

We have been together for four weeks – maybe five – just one two hour session every Wednesday. But still I feel that they are my children. Their lives matter to me. Their well-being matters to me. Their ambitions matter to me. They matter to me.

When their faces are turned up to me, flower petals soaking up love; when their eyes are bright with answers, or cloudy with questions; when their smiles boast of work well done; when their furrowed brow signals a need for extra help; when they hug me at the end of the day – oh, I am alive in all my ways.

All of mine were here today, and I called them to me: “All of my kiddos come to me!” We group hugged as a greeting. Because we’re on that level now.

They remembered what we were learning, the sounds that the vowels make. They knew them well.

Ah, ay, ee, oh, oo.

We said them aloud in a monkey-like rhythm. I called them my little monkeys, and they giggled behind their fingers.

They understood today what it means for a vowel to make a sound. They were patient and watchful as each took his or her turn. Two more were added to my mix. They asked. And I couldn’t say no. We sat, scrunched, around a common table. A puzzle lay before them. I watched with Happy Teacher Eyes as they Understood and got it all Right. I could have leapt into the air and kissed them all on the cheek when they explained to me why there’s an “a” in “around.”

“Because Ah! Ah! Ah!” they proclaimed in an eager attempt to show me their knowledge first.

“Exactly! You guys are so great.”

That’s all they need to hear. Little boys and little girls soaking up encouragement like vital drops of rain. I poured on them. Everything I had – smiles and pats on the back, thumbs ups and claps. They were brilliant, they were superstars. They were mine.

We made crowns because the game ended early and I hadn’t planned much else. They wrote what they wanted to be when they grow up – doctors and pilots, soccer players and queens, lawyers. Proudly as a mother, I taped those crowns upon their heads as if they really were filled with bejeweled glory.

Mine said: TEACHER. And they helped me to tape mine.

“Such a grreat teacha you are! You’re so good!”

Andile. The one who Loves me. The one I genuinely Love back. He is naughty and fidgety and easily distracted. But he winks to greet me and never holds back a hug. He helps me carry my things – always. He helps me tape crowns on children’s heads. He likes to be my hands so mine don’t have to be. He rubs my back and leans into me. He never fails to sit next to me. He pumps his arm in an elated “YESSS!” when he sees me come through the door.

My heart beamed at his simple words. Please, God, please, let me be just that someday.

I took pictures of them each in turn, Royal Portraits of the Royalty. Beautiful young faces with Hope, with a Future.

I read a book to them, Teacher Crown upon my head, theirs upon theirs. Gathered round the little table they watched me turn pages and narrate a story.

We took more pictures to pass the time, because I promised them we would. It was almost time to go. They were gathered around me, combing my hair with their fingers and petting the hair on my arms.

“Pretty girl! Pretty, pretty!”

Over and over they said it. Sweet little admirations and fingers around me. The boys took turns and kissed my arms and the sun tattoo on my back, giggling as they shuffled past to get back into line. They left spittle on my back, but I didn’t mind. I laughed with them. I hugged them. I told them I’d be back next week.

We all walked outside to wait for our bus driver. The children streamed outside by ones and twos and bigger groups. My boys hugged me farewell some more. And another, short with rounded cheeks and shaven hair, came up to me, face upturned and asked, “Can I be in you group next time?”

I smiled a Teacher’s Mother Smile, lay my hand on his cheek and promised, Yes, you can. He smiled and turned to go, skipping to his friends.

This is what I’m meant to do.