Leaving the nest

It's May, which means students are graduating from high school and college, moving forward with the next phase of their lives. I find May a difficult month; granted, seniors in high school are terribly difficult and annoying this last month of school, but it's hard to say goodbye, especially to those students I've nurtured and loved for the past four years. It's hard because IF they come and visit they are no longer the same person they once were--and they shouldn't be! But our meetings are slightly more awkward, and sometimes I don't like who they've become.

As the seniors' last day arrived, I found myself weepy. I can usually say goodbye, granted roughly and without  much grace, but I don't cry. This year I had to say goodbye to my advisement class, students I have had every other day for the past four years. And that was far tougher than I imagined.

I clearly remember the day the freshmen arrived and met with their Link Crew Leaders, older students who volunteer to help freshmen navigate through their first year of high school. One student, on her way out, wished me luck with the group, and I walked in to find a few student wreaking havoc on the room. These same students, Cal and Dan, made life miserable for all of us for the remainder of freshmen year. I would bring food, and they would make a mess. They threw candy and gum in corners of the room. Dan even would leave freshly chewed gum under his desk, including when he was a junior.

At the same time, I had bright spots. Shelly, a geeky young girl with a passion for flourescent colors and singing, was someone who wanted to keep to herself, so I talked and talked to her, coaxing her out of her shell. James and Camden were also geeky young me, but they smiled and greeted me each morning cheerfully. Leslie concerned me; she dressed provocatively at 14 and I knew she would have a baby before her senior year, which happened. But she was nice and treated me with respect. Madison was sweet, but she sadly grew obnoxious under the influence of students like Cal and Dan, and we ended four years later, not speaking to one another.

Sophomore year was no better. While Cal transferred out of my advisement class, he often would pop in and disrupt the group. Ultimately, he decided to attend another school, which didn't necessarily improve our class. Dan and Stacy began to act up, disrupting and disrespecting me and the other students. I had to stop one young man from hitting Dan, which was hard because Dan deserved to get smacked. Students were put into the class, and then they would leave the class, changing our numbers and dynamics. Through it all, I had my core group of students who treated me well: Shelly, James, Camden, Carla, Leslie, and Harry.

By junior year, I had had it with Dan. He was hateful, and while his parents, Dan, and I all tried to remove him from my class, our administration thought the problem was with me and refused to transfer him elsewhere. He was horrible, hateful, and if we didn't play a sport to his specifications, he would throw the game and cause us to lose. We came to blows in March of their junior year. I told him  he wasn't playing a game, and he told me to get out of his face, he had more important people to talk to. I took him to the office, where he continued to mouth off and disrespect me in front of administrators, who still thought this situation was my fault. It wasn't until Dan mouthed off to a female administrator that I was exonerated and he was moved elsewhere. Stacy, too, wanted out of the class, and she was moved as well. Finally, we had a good group.

Our senior year was our best year. We began with 28 or 29 kids as freshmen, but we ended up with 17. A couple of kids had joined our class over the past two years, adding humor and intelligence to the group. We actually could play as a team and have fun, and we even won a few games! We enjoyed hanging out with one another, talking about problems, families, and school. So it was no surprise when, on the last day, I cried. After four years and several problem students, we bonded together, we were a little family.

And now our little family has left the nest. I wish them well and will certainly miss them.

Loathing the end of the semester

It is that time of year again; temperatures vary, flowers bloom, lovely breezes, and...the end of the semester. I've come to hate the end of the semester/year. Teachers are cranky and tired, students are frisky and ready to be finished with their school year. The combination causes stupidity to rise and grades to fall.

I am currently teaching one of the lowest performing groups I've taught over the course of my career, and I am really blue about it. They ditch classes, they are frequently absent (excused, of course) or tardy, and then they are surprised when they begin to fail a class. Regardless of how easy it is to communicate with teachers, students play the "fool," surprised to know anything happened while they were gone, shocked that a teacher expects an absent student to contact them. I'm most frustrated with how many students regularly have "migraines." Come to find out, it's an excuse they're using now to miss class.

What has happened to this generation of students? Why do they not care about their education? Even my own son doesn't care nearly as much about school as his father and I did when we were in fourth grade. I understand that high school, developmentally, is a social time for teenagers, and I understand that academics isn't as high a priority for them. What I don't understand is where their parents are; why are their parents allowing their lackadaisical attitude to persist?

Pundits happily blame teachers for a lack of student achievement, but what about considering students and parents as well? I have emailed more parents this year than in previous years, and I've had fewer responses from parents than I expected. It's almost as though they seem to feel it's not their job to parent or enforce rules. More parents enable their children in terms of absenteeism, not completing work, and not making up work. They too are surprised when they find out their child cannot make up work from several months prior. I don't quite grasp that logic. It seems to me that the professional world has deadlines that aren't usually extended and expectations for employees that are upheld.

I'm told that I'm preparing students for the 21st century, for careers that haven't been invented yet. I feel the pressure to make sure all my students are proficient in English and have a sense of responsibility. I feel like I'm doing my part. When will parents and students do their parts?

Disappointing my mom

I've spent my entire life in fear of disappointing my mother. As a child, I tried to be really good, beyond expectation, because I wanted my mom's approval. When she said, "Don't...", I didn't. When she said, "Do...", I did. I knew her household expectations of me and fulfilled them to the best--or close to the best--of my abilities. I hated her disapproval. With one look, she could wither me, and I would spend the next several days, or more, trying to win back her good graces.

Recently, I've had dreams in which my mom appears, but she is deeply disappointed and frustrated with me. She gives me "the look," uses "the sigh," and martyrs herself for whatever it is I haven't done. I wake up, filled with angst, bewildered, and sad that at my ripe old age, I can't please my deceased mother.

I know many women who feel as I do; it is important to please our mothers. Guys don't seem to have that same stress on them. Maybe they do; maybe they strive their entire lives to please their fathers. I don't know. Why is it innate for us women to work so hard to please the woman who birthed us?

I've been trying to sort out my feelings. Do I have guilt over my mom's death? I don't know why I should. Is this desire to please my mom so deeply rooted that it's leaking into my dream, reminding me of my deficiencies? I'm sure there is some deep psychological reason for my disturbing dreams and my anxiety around not pleasing my mother.

The hardest part is that most of my anxiety dreams center on her displeasure with my treatment of my father. He's always getting ready to go somewhere with her, and she's angry with me for not taking better care of him. I think that's my own guilt bubbling to the surface of my conscience. I don't think I am taking good care of my father, even though he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I have a husband, child, and dog to care for as well. And I work full time as does my father. Really, it almost seems as though my father is working until he dies. I've made suggestions of what he can do and where he can go, but he wants to stay home. We have coffee once a week, and I try to have him for dinner once a week as well.

Inevitably, though, the guilt from which I have suffered my entire life hangs over me. I am not doing enough that is right, or so it seems. I can't seemingly organize myself to do all I feel that I need to do. My mom died with me knowing I was a huge disappointment to her, and I think that belief of mine affects me deeply, more deeply than I thought.

How does one recover from perpetual guilt?