For Ebony

I know there are a lot of tough jobs out there.

I'm not pretending like I work in a field full of daisies, nor am I saying that I work in a mine field either. But for those that are on the "inside" of education, you know that being a teacher is a tough job. I have administrators and "the law" checking in on me, parents questioning me, and students demanding my knowledge, expertise, and time. But to me, those are the things that are expected. Someone recently asked me what the "most surprising thing about being a teacher" was. After some time in thought, it came to me.

Attachment.

I get emotionally attached to my kids. And yes, they're my kids.

I recently heard a teacher say about a theoretical student in her class, "Really, I don't care about you.  You're just a cog in the wheel."

Really, lady? Then why are you still teaching?

After eight years of being the classroom, I figure I have taught just over 1,000 students. And if you look at my Facebook account, almost half of my "friends" are former students. And I love that. I love that they care enough to stay in touch, and I hope they feel the same in return. I cared about them as students, and I care about them as adults. While in my classroom, my main concern is not that they learn literature or grammar, but that they learn life skills and begin to discover who they are and what their bigger purpose is in life. I just use Shakespeare as a scapegoat.

Possibly the toughest part of being a teacher is when I lose one of my kids. After eight years, I have lost four - three boys and one girl. One was killed in a car accident, one was beaten to death, and two were suicides. If I had this blog up and running in November, I would have written this then.

For two years, I taught at a local middle school. It was not by choice. The first year was the toughest; most days I hated going to work. But there was one 7th grade girl, Ebony, who was the bright spot of my day.  She was feisty, smart, talented, and stubborn. And after awhile, we grew to love each other. Every morning she came to my room to give me a hug. She gave me the utmost compliment one day. She said, "Hey, Ms. L. You gangsta!" Once I left the school, we became friends on Facebook. I ran into her this summer in the mall. She was still smiling.

At the end of this past October, I heard a news story that a local high school student was found hanging in the school bathroom in a suicide attempt. Shortly there after, I received a text message from a colleague telling me that it was Ebony.

My world stopped. Even now, months later, I fight back the tears. I waited by my phone, my email, and the local news channels to hear updates. "Fighting for her life," were the words we hung onto for days. Finally, the first days of November rolled around, and Ebony's family took her off life support. They had kept her alive a few extra days to make sure family could say good-bye, and that her organs could be harvested. I cried. A lot. I went to her funeral. I prayed. I still don't understand. No one does.

So when someone says that being a teacher is "easy," or that we teach for "three reasons: June, July, & August," I want to tell them that I'd give it all up, if I didn't have to lose one more kid.

They're not the cog in my the wheel. They're the wheel.