missing you

I want to tell you a sweet story.

For the past three months I have taught reading skills to a small group of third grade students, along with my regular writing classes.

Oh, I complained and complained about added responsibilities; but finally accepted my new role and did my job.  (After all, I was the writing teacher and not the reading teacher.)

So since about October, four third graders diligently came to my classroom daily for thirty minutes of reading instruction.  It wasn't easy.  Oh, no. These four students misread sentences, substituted words that weren't even printed and at times acted totally disinterested.  It was painful for me to listen to such misreading.  I had them point word-by-word and read again. . .and again . . .until they got it right.

But we plowed through.  Day after day.  For three solid months.  I would compliment, congratulate, and sometimes berrate these eight year olds. I bribed them with a Life Saver if they would just read a short passage absolutely perfect, without making one mistake.  We discussed why they were sent to me for reading and how important it was to think while they read. On and on and on.  I certainly was more frustrated than they seemed to be. 

Then two weeks ago all of that ended and I now have many small groups throughout the day and not this original third grade group.

Well, Monday I was teaching writing to a third grade class and a boy I will call Seth, was waving to me from the back of the room.  A smile stretched from my right ear to my left.  "Hi, Seth,"  I said as our eyes locked onto each other's.  I completed the lesson and as the students were leaving little Seth hung back.  "Come here,"  I called.  And he came up to me.  "You'd better give me a big old hug,"  I said.  And he did.  He latched around my waist like an octopus.  "I miss you, Mrs. George,"  Seth said.  "I miss you too,"  I answered.

Then today one of the girls from the original small group came to writing with her class. She was always shy and hesitant in the small group, but once again, our eyes locked and I mouthed,  "I miss you." 

"Huh?"  she answered.  So I walked over and placed my hand on her back and whispered in her ear,  "I miss you."

Her answer,  "Oh, Mrs. George, I want to come back to you.  Please take me back."  Then I told her she did so well on her last test, she tested herself out of small group.  And when her class left I called her over and reached my arms out for the  big old hug.  We clung together for five to ten seconds and tears swelled in my eyes.  I have not seen the other two students in writing yet but imagine the feelings will be the same.

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Now here's the point.  What I fought was the very thing I needed.  I just had no idea that small group of third graders and I had formed such a close bond. And it felt good and made the struggle all worth while. 

Comments

[Darlene]

Merry,
I would have to say you are a SPECIAL teacher and will certainly be remembered by many students. The school will miss you when you retire - that's for sure!

[Susan]

That is the sweetest post ever! What a great teacher! Merry, it brought tears to my eyes.