He'll Never Walk Again

So much for my "sturdy" desks. This one lost a bracing arm last year (welds let go), and then developed a slowly-worsening scoliosis, until it finally collapsed in on itself, book, student, and all.

It was pretty funny, because no one was hurt. The students, of course, wanted to re-assemble the desk to set a man-trap for an unsuspecting student in a later class, but I put the kabosh on that.

There's no way to salvage the book basket, or I'd have a screwdriver in my hand this very moment.

On the upside, my worst-behaving kid ("Blurter" from a previous post) checked out of my class today: his discipline file got thick enough to move him to a more appropriate (smaller, more restrictive) environment, in hopes that there still may be some chance of educating him. I wish him luck, and count my blessings: when he was suspended, the class ran fairly well. Huggy Bear says word on the street is that all of the kids in that family are wild. He was the way he is well before I ever said "Good morning" to him.

I used to really feel for these kids, wanting to reach each and every one, and let myself become sad at their departure. I still want the best for them, but I realize that they are going into someone else's hands now, and that my influence on them has ended. I have to turn to the students I have, and make good use of my time with those who still look to me at the front of the room. It's egotistical of me to think that another adult won't be able to have a deeper impact on him than I did.

The truth is, I don't know what my final effect will be on any of my students: what they take, when it will help or influence them, and whether the influence will have been from the content of the class or because of who I am.

There's a lot of trust involved in this career.