On leaving the door open...

I'm currently hunkered down in the study, hiding from my children who are fighting about who takes the first bath tonight. Neither of them want to, and they are hissing terrible things at each other right now, and I can barely bring myself to care. In fact, I don't, really, until the whining and screeching becomes too annoyingly loud. Where is my Mother of the Year award? Is it around here somewhere? Well, actually, I think I'll just drink a glass of wine and call it good.

...Okay, but if I hear "That's not fair" or "I'm telling Mom" one more time I'm going to switch to something a bit harder.

Anyway.

It has actually been a good day. Sometimes I find good days unexpectedly follow the days in which I feel crazy and cry a lot, which happened yesterday. I woke up this morning feeling fairly calm, though. I didn't stay calm, because this also turned into one of those teaching days that requires flailing and threats and semi-deranged rolling of the eyes. That felt necessary today, but not exactly bad, and I left my toughest class at the end of the day feeling wildly, stupidly optimistic. I don't know whether this is a strength or a weakness: my wild, unkillable optimism. I pulled aside a boy I know well -- this is my second year with him -- who is crashing spectacularly. It's not the first time I've pulled him aside. Last time, in fact, I basically threw up my hands and said, "I'm all out of tricks! I don't know what's going to work! I just know things are hard for you, and I'm sorry. I'm also sorry that I'm probably going to continue to get on your nerves, because I care, and I see you, and you're not ever going to slip off my radar. So, okay, I'm sorry in advance. I'm not going anywhere. You're going to be mad at me. I know I piss you off. You piss me off. I'm still not going anywhere." We've butted heads hard a few times, but he smiled at this. It was not exactly my most eloquent speech ever.

It also didn't work. That was weeks ago. Today something seemed different, so I gave him a similar version of what I'm beginning to think of as my Desperation Talk, and then I said, "Look, you and I both know you're good at bullshitting adults and telling them what they want to hear." He laughed, because, you know, teachers shouldn't say bullshit or whatever, but then he said, "Yeah, I know. But I don't think I'm doing that now."

And I said, "If you're telling me that this is a turning point for you, and you mean it, and you show me that in the next week or two, I will make it possible for you to pass my class."

I held out my pinky. Forget handshakes; teenagers know that a pinky swear is serious. He hooked his pinky into mine and I leaned in and hissed, "I swear, if you're bullshitting me now, I will break your pinky."

I'll just go ahead and put my Teacher of the Year award next to my Mother of the Year award, yeah?

But I'll tell you what, these moments when I really believe in what's possible are it. They're what keep me going. When what's possible actually happens, it's magic. There's a perfectly solid chance that I'll feel crushed and disappointed, because sometimes kids just don't know how to get it together when they're teenagers and they're a mess, despite our best efforts. And honestly, while I used to believe they have to care more than I do, I no longer believe that's true. They're kids, and they don't see the bigger picture. And also, I can't judge where they're coming from if I don't understand it -- sometimes school just isn't a priority, and for good reason. I frequently care a lot more than they do, and that hurts sometimes. But I also believe that even if it doesn't mean they get their act together right now, today, this month, or during their entire junior year, something might stick, and we have no way of knowing how that will matter later. So in the meantime, I fumble along, sometimes desperately. I sound like a crazy person. I rant, and I get angry, and I accidentally use the word bullshit. But underneath that all, I hope what comes across is this totally helpless love. I can't help it. I do love this. I keep coming back. And if nothing else, I try to leave the door open.