There was a blue moon last night, or so my weather app tells me. A blue moon, by definition, is the second full moon in a single calendar month. They don’t happen very often, hence the old saying “once in a blue moon.” In fact, this particular blue moon is the last one we’ll see for two years, according to the same knowledgeable app.
It’s also about how often I’m happy in my job anymore, once in every couple of years.
This past week, though, was one of those blue moons. I didn’t get to experience it last year, because we were all still teaching remotely and many of our students didn’t come back in person at all last year, even after the school doors reopened. I didn’t get to experience it for the previous two years, because I was the new teacher in the school and didn’t know anyone.
The phenomenon I’m talking about is the return of former students. It started a couple of days before the first day of school, when my sweet Caroline stopped by with her mother on their way out of the building after meeting with her new teacher. I had her in my class two years ago, and she’s a little taller, but other than that hasn’t changed a bit. They went out of their way to come say “hello” to me in my Harry-Potter-like classroom under the stairs. I gave her a distance hug, because I’m still not supposed to squeeze the stuffing out of her as I would like, as we’re, once again, donning our masks so we can be together.
Then, there was a “Hi, Mrs. Baker!” that floated in from the stairs as a boy paused in his ascent to his third-grade classroom. I wouldn’t have recognized the boy because he was much taller, he’d lost his Anakin Skywalker padawan braid, and his grin was hidden behind his mask, not to mention that I hadn’t seen him at all in a year and a half. But I would have recognized that voice anywhere. “Oh, Sean!” I almost cried. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! How have you been? How’s your family?” I could see his eyes crinkle with a grin above his mask as he patiently answered all of my questions. “It’s so good to see you!” we called to each other, and he went on his way with a waive.
After that, there were a half-dozen or so different false starts, with children looking like they were about to bolt forward for a hug and then remembering we’re not supposed to do that anymore. One girl finally broke through her self-restraint and actually followed through, grabbing me around my waist, her head now reaching my shoulders. I even had some “I wish I was still in your class!” shouts in the hallways and outside on the playground.
When I asked my new, current students what they liked best about first grade at the end of the day on Friday, amidst the “recess” and “P.E.” answers I was shocked when one student said “being here with you.” Several others followed suit after that, whether genuine or from the herd mentality that frequently happens in a first-grade classroom, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.
This is what I need to remember to get me through the coming school year. This is what is important. It’s not whether my lessons go according to plan. It’s not whether I’ve completed my asynchronous PD. It’s not about complying with all the time-wasting demands from upper administration who have forgotten what it’s like to be on the front lines in the classroom, or maybe never knew.
It’s about this, the relationships I have with my students, both past and present. It’s about letting them know I care and that they are loved. That’s what makes me happy in my job.