Bittersweet

Today was the last day with the kiddos, and six hours after their departure, I finally feel pretty sad. I imagine that in no other job will a thirteen-year-old girl tell me that I rock and rule and am her best friend when her other friends aren't around. The day was full of other such well-wishes, I'll miss yous, and promises to visit next year too.

What the kids don't know yet, is that I won't be back next year. I didn't want to tell them because, even though I wouldn't be their teacher anyway, to these kids it feels a little like someone is leaving them, like someone is giving up. And if I'm being honest right now, it feels a little bit like I am. While I know that there is no bigger or better thing than teaching these kids that I could ever move onto, I know too, that it's time to challenge myself elsewhere, to see what I can accomplish. For me.

I don't think kids like Sarah or Thanh will understand that this fall when they return to my room ready to show me how much they've grown over the summer and to tell me about their adventures. And the thought of not being there to see and hear them has me pretty bummed out. Yet, as cheesy as it may sound, I have to trust that they took something of me with them that they won't forget, even if I'm not standing in room 213 awaiting their return. Just as I am taking something of them with me.