Today you won’t find me pouring my heart out in a café, at least not yet anyway. The last day of classes has drawn to a close. I sit on a train between Székesfehérvár and Budapest, plodding along to the airport and later, Madrid. It’s 3:48 am and I am curled up on the seat of the train, reading the numerous comments my students have written on my pictures and wall.
It’s funny how a day can be so awaited and yet so dreaded. The lure of travel – Madrid, Barcelona, Bologna, Florence, Rome, Lascari, the coast of Croatia – and summer fever had me longing for those summer days, free of school. Reality brought goodbyes – numerous hugs, a few tears, and lots of love.
The sun warmed our faces and the wind ruffled our hair as Taylor and I sat outside watching “our boys” (our two groups of ninth grade boys whom we teach eight lessons a week) play soccer and American football. We joked around with them for the last time, put on goofy sun glasses, shared inside jokes, and snapped pictures together.
The bell rang, sending me to my last lesson with my tenth graders, a group who is always up for charades, games, and laughter. Polite and eager to learn, they always stood when I entered the room, and quieted down when I asked – no they weren’t angels, but they were pretty darn close :-p The class began with a student’s speech I’ll remember and hold in my heart for many years to come. The group gifted me with traditional Hungarian goodies – in particular, a Hungarian shot glass to hold my Hungarian palinka J Then amongst pictures and laughter, we played cards together for our last lesson.
The ringing of the teachers’ bell, tunes that are a mix of cartoon and movie theme songs, sent me back outside to my ninth grade boys. We went to lunch together, bonding over lunch room dregs. The shortened classes were for once too short as it came time for me to go inside for teachers’ meetings. I lingered with my boys long after the time they could have gone home, cherishing my last moments with them.
Teaching 9G has been quite the adventure. Four lessons of 45 minutes with thirteen fifteen year-old boys per day, has been both a blessing and a trial. “My boys” will say anything to watch my face infuse with redness; they’ll chitchat and complain and beg to go home; they’ll hug my neck and say sweet things and make me long to teach them for years to come. I couldn’t adore my group of guys, and Taylor’s group of guys, any more if they were my own. As I watched them in their Christmas and Piggy plays this year, I felt as proud as a parent. They have me saying things like “I’ll wash your mouth out with soap!”, “Boys, no cussing!”, and threatening like a parent. And like any loved ones, I’ll miss them so much as I move on to Vienna.
My memories of their antics, of all my students’ tricks, will have me laughing and smiling for years to come. I’ll miss all of you (8A, 9A, 9G, 10A, 10C, 10G, 11A, 11G, 12A, 12C, and 13D) so much! Thank you for the memories!
"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." - Annie, The Musical
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