The Final Year Begins

In about nine and a half hours, my final year at Garfield will begin.

I've spent the last eight years of my life there (Nancy, that's 8/30, or 4/15, of my life), long enough to see former students head off to college. Long enough to have their younger sisters and brothers, some of whom I've known since they were preschoolers, walk through my door as students. I've worn many, many metaphorical hats (and a few actual hats, all SAL of course).

I read a fabulous book over the summer by one of my favorite authors, Jonathan Kozol. It's titled The Shame of the Nation, mostly about how, 52 years after the Supreme Court's Brown v. Board of Education decision, America's schools are as segregated as ever and, consequently, white children and children of color have wildly different schooling experiences. The quote below comes from that book. I don't want to spend a bunch of time explaining what it has to do with anything, because I need to go to bed and be well rested for my 48 new kiddos tomorrow, but you're all smart. You can figure it out.

What, we may ask, is missing from this purely economic explanation of the motives that bring thousands of unselfish men and women into public schools each year and lead many to remain within these schools and classrooms during the full course of their career? One thing it lacks is any recognition of the role of altruistic and protective feelings, empathetic fascination, love of children, love of learning in itself, with all the mysteries and all the miracles and all the moments of transcendence. Teachers often cry on the last day of school. Is this because their paychecks are so small? Is it because they think themselves to be "the lowliest of bureaucrats" in Mr. Chubb and Mr. Moe's unfortunately chosen words? Or is it because they know that they will miss those children terribly?