It's silent. My 5th graders are reading and meticulously filling in bubble after bubble on Wisconsin State Standardized Tests. Our aquarium buzzes in the back of the room; water trickling out of the filter into an empty habitat. 4 toads are absent today because Ms. Sominsky's 8th grade biology class has borrowed them for observation.
I recall the soothing melodies of Iron and Wine from earlier today. Faint melodies floating into their young eager minds. This music calms them almost instantly after they come bustling in from the early November weather, bundled in puffy coats- spotted with filth from romping in the leaves in yards on the walk home from school, backpacks with wheels, and Green Bay Packers ear-warmers. The contrast of Fubu and Element names against a thin, faded purple drawstring bag- undoubtedly passed down for years through a line of siblings that can't afford a new school bag every year; and yet, none of them seem to notice.
I've placed myself strategically next to ceiling-high windows to warm myself with the touch of the sun's rays pressing into our little classroom. Sitting back, I watch my children working steadily with so much joy in my heart and a slight tinge of pain at the thought of saying goodbye to them next Friday. I love my students. They are my children. I am their teacher. This is what I'm created to be.
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