There are many joys in being an English teacher. The hugs, the improvement, the kids. However, there is something that I think every teacher has to face at some point. The death of a student. I didn't realize two of my students had died. I figured they had skipped class as they were sometimes inclined to do. A student appeared at my door tonight. I knew something was horribly wrong from her demeanor. Hoping it wasn't the grade I gave her (she hasn't been to class in two months), I asked what was wrong.
Two of my boys had gone to a nearby place. They had tried to save some people in a river, only to never surface themselves. I think about that class and about those boys. That I will never see them sitting there again. I won't be able to help them. I knew my time with my family is precious to me and that I had taken it for granted far too much. I had no idea that this also applied to my students. The times I figured we would work on something next week, or at this point next semester. No. That isn't good enough. I have 45 in class minutes to improve my students at least twice a week. Who knows when those 45 minutes will be my last. How dare I put anything off? Time is precious!
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