I’ve spent the last three weeks licking my wounds, since finding out I’m one of the fortunate California teachers who won’t be coming back next year. Every day. I mean, every day, I give a textbook assignment with vocabulary and literary questions. It’s like independent study every day.
I told my boss that today. That because of this decision, I have no job. I was looking forward to restructuring my home loan, but foreclosure is imminent. So, I told him his students were working in the book, and he was sort of fine with it. So the students are bored out of their minds, and really…it’s not an issue for me. You work, you get your credits for the session, you move on. Plus, they don’t know I’m not coming back. (They will be happy, I guarantee it.)
Today, I had enough. I have one poetry class, and I printed up the poem, The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. They are drawing mazes, and planning their future. Then, I hauled out my therapy book, .
My third period class, restless and irritable made me haul out a great book, by accident,
Yeah, I always get the exact books that I’m supposed to read. At the exact right moment. I’m sure I’m about to learn something from all of this. I read the beginning aloud, and the students wanted me to read it to them.
Only problem is, I can’t afford to re-connect with them, since I’m leaving. What’s that old saying about loving and losing? Is it really better to love and lose, then never love at all?
Off to run 4.5.