Yesterday at my apartment I hosted an open house and a book party to celebrate the release of my novel, Dust On Their Wings. Three of my siblings along with their spouses and a few adult friends attended this event.
But what made the afternoon an occasion of a pure joy were the number of former students who took the time to come and see me.
But what made the afternoon an occasion of a pure joy were the number of former students who took the time to come and see me.
They came throughout the afternoon, young people I had taught for four, five, and six years during their middle school and high school years. In my mind, they are still adolescents, fidgeting in their chairs at their desks, bold or shy, attentive or inattentive, smiling or staid, all depending on the moment and their personalities.
Yet now they came into my apartment, where many of them had come before for various study groups, and I found them transformed into young adults. Here was Duncan, recently graduated from Chapel Hill and soon to enter medical school there; here was his sister, a senior at Appalachian who will teach elementary school children. Here was Carolyn, who teaches special needs children in Buncombe County, and Tess, who continues her competitive ballroom dancing while attending the University of North Carolina in Charlotte. Here were Mary and Jonathan and Thomas and Emily, all in various stages of college. Here were Katie, Jessica, Bonnie, and Caroline, who will head off next fall to college. Here was Miranda with her wonderful smile intact, married and employed at a local running store. Here were Katie and Aubrey, both working full time in a local bakery while taking courses at our local community college. Here were Anthony, a third year cadet at VMI, and Spencer, a Marine Corps reservist and builder at age 22. Here was Sophia, who just began classes with me this semester and who will, Deo volente, continue to do so. These and others came and went throughout the afternoon.
Looking at these young people, laughing with them, talking with them, and listening to them made me think of all the others I have known or taught: my own children, my grandchildren, and all those students, many of whom are now parents themselves. I realized how blessed I was to have known them all and how grateful I was to have played some role, however small, in their development.
Many of these young people think of me as a gift in their lives. I hope they are right. I hope I have taught them something worth knowing, something worthwhile.
But here’s the kicker: for the first time I realized that any gifts I had given to them were minor compared to those they had given me over the years. My children, my grandchildren, my students: they had loved me, had forced me to be a better person than I was, had taught me humility, had filled my days with purpose, had often brought me laughter and, on some occasions, tears.
These young people thought they were sitting in my classroom, but I see now I have been sitting in theirs.
Thank you, mes enfants, for being my teachers all these years.
Yet now they came into my apartment, where many of them had come before for various study groups, and I found them transformed into young adults. Here was Duncan, recently graduated from Chapel Hill and soon to enter medical school there; here was his sister, a senior at Appalachian who will teach elementary school children. Here was Carolyn, who teaches special needs children in Buncombe County, and Tess, who continues her competitive ballroom dancing while attending the University of North Carolina in Charlotte. Here were Mary and Jonathan and Thomas and Emily, all in various stages of college. Here were Katie, Jessica, Bonnie, and Caroline, who will head off next fall to college. Here was Miranda with her wonderful smile intact, married and employed at a local running store. Here were Katie and Aubrey, both working full time in a local bakery while taking courses at our local community college. Here were Anthony, a third year cadet at VMI, and Spencer, a Marine Corps reservist and builder at age 22. Here was Sophia, who just began classes with me this semester and who will, Deo volente, continue to do so. These and others came and went throughout the afternoon.
Looking at these young people, laughing with them, talking with them, and listening to them made me think of all the others I have known or taught: my own children, my grandchildren, and all those students, many of whom are now parents themselves. I realized how blessed I was to have known them all and how grateful I was to have played some role, however small, in their development.
Many of these young people think of me as a gift in their lives. I hope they are right. I hope I have taught them something worth knowing, something worthwhile.
But here’s the kicker: for the first time I realized that any gifts I had given to them were minor compared to those they had given me over the years. My children, my grandchildren, my students: they had loved me, had forced me to be a better person than I was, had taught me humility, had filled my days with purpose, had often brought me laughter and, on some occasions, tears.
These young people thought they were sitting in my classroom, but I see now I have been sitting in theirs.
Thank you, mes enfants, for being my teachers all these years.
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