. . . and you're helping me.

I really do love my students and children in general, so my days teaching are typically pleasant.  But, every once in a while, there's a really golden day as a teacher, where things click for students, or they say something profound (or ridiculous), or I'm just overcome by how much I love my students.  Today, I was overcome by pride.

My year 8 students had had to write scripts with a suspense theme.  I was quite pleased with the scripts, and the next part was that, in small groups, students were to choose a script and actualize it as a stage play, film, or radio drama.  Today was the day they presented, and my two groups brought in polished radio plays, with sound effects, music, and excellent voice acting.

I have two consecutive lessons with these students, and during the break, I rushed to my office, nearly about to cry.  Had there been anyone there to gush to, I'm sure I would have wept with pride--but maybe not pride exactly.  I was pleased with their excellence, and I think there is a difference.  They reached their potential, and I wanted to rejoice with them.  After the break, we resumed, and the students talked about each others' work, giving due praise and commending one another.  I had wondered whether to give 100% or something like 95% for their work, but then I realized that there was no cause to give them less than 100%.  They had fully realized the learning task and had created recordings they could be proud of.  We sat around in a circle, smiling, and one student burst out, "I'm so happy!"  If I would have told the students that I was near crying, that would have been the end of it, and the tears would have come.

Later in the day, another blessing came.  I had two art lessons with years 3 and 4 (US equivalent of about grades 2 and 3).  The lessons were packed full, seeing as I had definitive marks I wanted the students to reach before the end of the lessons.  It was a bit chaotic to finish the tasks, and I was strict Miss S, but part of the chaos was the students' pride in their work and their legitimate fascination with the products they had made.  Students were getting out of their seats to show each other what they'd accomplished and made.  After the second lesson drew to an end, I was rushing three lingering students to finish and leave.  Before leaving, one student said to me, "When I am big, I'm going to be a designer--a fashion designer--and you're helping me."

How did I ever get blessed with such dear students?


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