This is for all the teachers, like me, who are retiring this year and ending their careers in an unimaginable way due to the Covid-19 pandemic. We are the ultimate seniors missing our own special good-byes:
If I had known I would never get to teach Romeo and Juliet again, never again guide students through this literary rite of passage rather than preparing them packets, I never would have retired this year.
If I'd know I wouldn't get those last two chances to teach composition and get it "right" before retiring, I never would have put my paperwork in.
If I had known I would never get to teach Romeo and Juliet again, never again guide students through this literary rite of passage rather than preparing them packets, I never would have retired this year.
If I'd know I wouldn't get those last two chances to teach composition and get it "right" before retiring, I never would have put my paperwork in.
If I'd known I wouldn't get a proper goodbye--to a full class, to bustling halls, to my friends, long-time colleagues, my homeroom kids, the bells, to room B219, to my building, the center of my life for (nearly) 33 years, I would have stayed another year.
If I'd thought for a minute that I couldn't sit just one more time with RPS faculty and staff at graduation and watch those kids walk across the stage, I certainly would have planned for another year.
If I had known that when I said, "Have a great weekend" on March 12 that what I really meant was "I hope you have a wonderful life," I wouldn't have taken the last term for granted. I would not have spent these last months looking ahead toward a finish line. I would have savored all the moments. All of them: the funny, the annoying, the joyful, the infuriating. Every single one. I would have said to my students, my colleagues--young and old--my bosses, my friends, my department, "Thank you for making this last year great. Thank you for everything always."
If I'd thought for a minute that I couldn't sit just one more time with RPS faculty and staff at graduation and watch those kids walk across the stage, I certainly would have planned for another year.
If I had known that when I said, "Have a great weekend" on March 12 that what I really meant was "I hope you have a wonderful life," I wouldn't have taken the last term for granted. I would not have spent these last months looking ahead toward a finish line. I would have savored all the moments. All of them: the funny, the annoying, the joyful, the infuriating. Every single one. I would have said to my students, my colleagues--young and old--my bosses, my friends, my department, "Thank you for making this last year great. Thank you for everything always."
If I'd known, I'd have made sure to say "I love you guys."
