Just turned in my Narratives.

i was sitting in a cafe late one Thursday evening last week, flipping through papers and poems and rubrics of my students.  i was compiling a narrative, a letter to the student that reviews and assesses her progress over the past term.  A guy walked by with his coffee and said over his shoulder, "Just give 'em all Bs." 

Should we take a minute and review why i didn't?  It would have saved me an anxiety attack (I've never had one before, but throwing up in the middle of the day sure didn't feel good).  It would have saved me a month of 4 a.m. wake up alarms and midnight snacks of old Easter candy (thank you Cathy!).  I could have avoided the arduous and disarming discussion with my boss about the absolutely unreasonable deadline.  I'm beginning to sound like I really enjoy whining, but let me get to my point here: i couldn't, under any circumstances, lived with myself and scrawl out a list of Bs to toss to my students like after-dinner scraps.  How dare i?

I live my teaching life by a little unwritten code: you and your students are interchangeable, always.  I try to check myself: Would i appreciate being spoken to in that tone of voice?  Would i enjoy being overwhelmed by her coffee breath when she comes to help me?  Would i work my hardest all year if i knew my teacher would toss me a B at the end of the year so she could scurry off to the outlet malls and maybe hit up a vacation deal in Banff?  So of course, the option is ONLY, ALWAYS, honor my students with my best work. 

So, here i am.  i have just submitted my narratives to my boss (Sorry, Sally.  "Boss" just sounds better than "Dean of Faculty").  I'm sitting at my gigantic desk (not as gigantic as this field, however).  I think my bamboo plant might die soon, so i should take it home with me.  And i should do some other things before i turn in my keys and my computer and my anxiety attack.  This is my list to close up shop:

1. Scan all the student work that i want to use as examples for next year.  It's been piling up on my desk, cluttering the horizon.
2. Meet with my colleagues and plan a schedule for the summer.  See, we're adding another teacher to our team (yay), but we'll need to figure out how we'd like to work together.  
3. Pull all the books out of the library that kids recommended to me over the year. Get ready to read them by putting them in order: prettiest book covers first.
4. Pack up all my personal items (including my ailing bamboo plant) and pick up the classroom.
5. Weed through my term binders: pull all the good stuff and light the rest on fire.
6. Double-check my conference schedules (i.e. my jury duty is conveniently on the second day of my bioethics conference. hrmph).
7. Go visit the camp where we'll be having our fall overnighter. 
8. Book a massage.
9. Meet with a teacher from another school about girls' middle schools.  i don't know what to tell her.  Maybe, "They're girls.  They believe in themselves with a ferocity shared with lionesses and high school basketball coaches, that is, when they aren't getting texted that they are fat and ugly and don't wear the right shoes."  I'll let you know how that goes.