Summer School

I'm teaching summer school again, and I find it soul-crushing.  I am working with nine students who failed a major paper during the year, and now they have to re-write/write a new one.   Ostensibly, they are writing about books that matter to them.   I'm not fully convinced.

One of them is in the planning phase of his paper, and I pulled him aside yesterday to say, "I was thinking about your paper last night.  You need to add mini-introductions to each section.  Short paragraphs can act as transitions as you move from part to part."

"You were thinking about my paper last night?"  He seemed surprised.  "Thanks."

Why does it surprise him that his teacher thinks about his work outside of the school day?  I was surprised about his surprise.   I had to pause.  I wondered what messages he had received over the years from teachers.   Do they think of him when he is not around?   And isn’t that what we all want- to be thought of in some way?  

I recently saw a student I taught 15 years ago. He's now a DC Fireman, married with two children.  He's older than some of my current teacher colleagues, and he's now the age I was when taught him. We met up for dinner- excellent steaks and Manhattans.   We shared stories about his old high school (where I once taught), classmates, old teachers.   It was great fun.   We told each other stories the other had forgotten.  He reminded me of the field trip to the ice-rink; I joked with him about his occasional/frequent oversleeping.  Then he said, “I tell my wife that you were a teacher who cared.  Not all teachers do.”

“You were thinking about my teaching in the last 15 years?”  I was surprised. “Thanks.”