Nine Days Later

Well, it's official. School's been out for just over a week and I already miss it. The first few days were of course a glorious period filled with much joyful bounding about. Then I took out the letters I had my kids write to me on the last day of school. Reading them made me feel all sad and not a little bit weepy. (Speaking of being weepy, I was surprised at how teary I felt when it came time to leave. I had only been there for one semester, had only made a couple friends that I would consider close, and had spent the first half of the semester wondering why I had ever thought it would be a good idea to take over someone else's class mid-semester. Still, I nearly cried multiple times, which is saying a lot for me since I basically never cry [sorry Mom]. Anyway, the letter reading made me weepy. Here are a few choice excerpts (any mention of names has been changed, to protect my sweet innocent students from any creepers that might get personal information from their letters to me. Ok, I know it's paranoid, but that's what I've learned from Wonderman - paranoia):

"You have a very . . . what's the word . . . um . . . straightforward personality. That's what makes you a good teacher." - K. H. - This is from one of the sweetest students ever. At the beginning of the semester, I thought she was afraid of me, but I think we worked things out.

"One of the things I liked about your class was that you always explained what we were supposed to do in a funny way (just that you laughed a lot). What I didn't like was that you always made me put my makeup away." - G. H. - poor kid, that I always made her put her makeup away.

This one is a sweet rhyme from one of my more vocal (and, of course favorite) tenth graders: Dear Mrs. Bindell, you served us well. While you're living in paradise, we'll still be in hell. I know you'll miss this class, especially me. I'll never forget your sarcastic comedy. In Arizona we'll be catching rain; in Dominica you'll be catching hurricanes. Even though you're moving southeast, I'll still be Steven Stone, the Crumb-bucket BEAST!!!"

And, of course, the necessary philosophical ponderings of a sixteen-year-old: "Without any rain, there wouldn't be any rainbows." - A. C.