I played softball for seven years growing up. I was never really good, but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the feeling of the bat in my hands as I swung and missed, the feeling of the ball rolling between my firmly planted feet and my few successful walks to first base.
I can clearly remember walking up the hill to campus in college. The early birds of spring were chirping and the breeze was cool, but not cold. It offered promise of spring and feeling this longing to be back on the field. By then it had been six years since I had played, but I still recognized that feeling of early spring as softball season.
That is the same feeling I feel as the air starts to get cooler and students head back to school. I miss teaching a class full of students whether they be little three year old learning numbers and how to sit quietly or adults learning the real and unreal conditionals. I love to teach. I miss watching their transformation from lacking in knowledge on a subject to quite knowledgeable. I miss the transformation from fearful of the new adventure ahead to confident trailblazers. I miss planning lessons and executing them.
I spent two and a half years in graduate school and more money than I can ever dream of paying to be a teacher, but instead of teaching I am sitting in bed. I am going to PT. And as my symptoms seem to be returning more and more these days – a product of stress – I wonder when and if this will change.
The comforting thought through this time is the relief at the idea of no more students arguing with me over their attendance, no more student behavior issues, no more poopy diapers, no more paperwork, no more helicopter parents or having to dress professionally.