Yesterday was what I really consider my first day of retirement. Officially, June 5 should hold that mark, but yesterday, all of my teacher friends returned to work without me.
One of the things I jokingly shared with colleagues that I looked forward to in retirement was going to the grocery store during the week when everyone else was working, especially teachers. As I worked my way through the produce aisles at HEB yesterday, the aisles were definitely fairly empty on this Monday afternoon, but somehow I still hadn’t felt the jolt I was expecting to mark my retirement.
As I pushed my cart past the row of potatoes, I heard a voice, “Mrs. Saenz?”
I turned around and saw a familiar smile, a smile that last year had taken a while to appear in my presence.
It was a student I had worked with the previous year in writing pull-outs. I had pulled her in a small group the weeks prior to the 7th grade STAAR writing test to help prepare her for the upcoming test. Her teacher believed in her, told me she just needed a little extra, but she knew she could do it.
I remembered that first day in pull-outs, this student’s head down, barely willing to make eye contact. Heavy sighs followed each of my statements sharing my belief that these 6 students needed just a little more to be ready for the test.
As I sat beside her to prepare to confer about her personal narrative, she didn’t want to share it with me.
“I’m just not a good writer,” she had told me. She was about to crumple up her work, when I said, “Maybe I could look at it first before you get rid of it. I bet we can find something worth keeping.”
She reluctantly handed me the paper. “Can I read it aloud or should I just read it silently?” I asked. She quickly replied, “Silently… I already know what it says.”
I read about a young girl who came to a new school in 5th grade. I shared with her how I never moved and had to change schools growing up, and I liked how her paper let me know what that felt like. I pointed out the places she really helped me understand how hard that must have been. And that’s when I saw that beautiful smile for the first time. I knew we’d turned a corner and she was ready for revision suggestions.
As we stood in the grocery store aisle, she introduced me to her little sister who was with her in HEB. “She’s a pretty good writer already, but maybe she’ll still get to meet you when she gets to middle school.”
I shared, “I retired at the end of the year, so I won’t be there for her to meet.”
My student looked at me then and said, “Oh that’s too bad. But that’s good for you. You have so much time now to do whatever you want. I guess we need to go catch up with my mom.”
And then, before she walked off, she turned to give me a hug and said, “I’m glad I saw you today. I never got a chance to tell you thank you. I passed the STAAR writing test, and I couldn’t have done it without you. Thanks for helping me.”
As I hugged her back I said, “You don’t know how much your thank you means to me, especially today.”
It’s those types of unexpected teacher appreciation that mean the most.
And that’s where I felt that jolt into retirement that I’d been waiting for. Those special students are what made those 30 years the best career ever. To all my teacher friends: As you are putting the final touches on your rooms this week, attending meetings, taking part in staff development, I hope you take the time to recall some of those special students in your lives who make it all worthwhile. That is what I will truly miss about not returning.
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