Goodbye, Children

Strange how I do and I don’t want to be here.
The room is quiet now, with only a handful of warm bodies occupying the seats.
Soon it will be deserted,
like a nuclear town that was filled with children and families,
forgotten and falling into ruin with no shoes to stamp down the corridors,
no anxious fingers carving their initials or personal messages
deep into the grain of the wooden desk.

Strange to stand in the room when all the children have gone.
Silence ensues, finding a temporary home.
I turn the lights off since it is just me,
and let the sun filter into the cold room through the broken blinds.
I shut my door to the hallway, knowing that it locks from the outside
and I sit here, looking around, wondering how many
teachers before me had this room, thought they might still be here.

Strange to watch the children go and be sad to see them leave,
but happy to not instruct them ever again.
A bittersweet swell; they can’t get away fast enough for me to start missing them.
The matured souls understand what happens over the summer
and they watch with reservation as we give them
big smiles and words of encouragement and praise,
promising to think about them
and see them again in a few months.

Am I a liar for not telling these children that I may never see them again?

Some of them look so wistful when asking
if I will be in the same room next year.
It hurts that it is wise not to tell them the truth,
and to instead redirect their attention to another topic.
I would love to tell them that I would be back if it wasn’t
for the school not having a position
for the board of education letting our funding be cut
for other teachers waiting for a better economy to retire to.
Rather, I am made to fib and say that I probably will be
but won’t be sure until August.

It would be easier to be truthful…

But teachers are not made to do what is easy.
It is not our purpose.
We must look, think and decide upon what is best
regardless of how we feel or what we personally think.
We must interact without attachment,
teach without dependence
and learn above all else
how to let go of someone, regardless of your concerns
for their life, their future, or their eventual safety
or even their own sanity, their pains and joys.

So we do not take the easy path;
we burden our souls black with lies and half-truths
given to those who ask questions beyond their years (or understanding).
And on the last day of school,
children race home, teachers go out for drinks, administrators rush to their families
while I, with a blackened soul,
go home to my man, bury my face in his shoulder
and cry.