Just another paper

June was a month of bittersweetness. While it was the end of the school year, which meant the beginning of summer vacation, it also meant having to prepare my classroom for the summer. Artwork and projects needed to be removed from the walls and either stored or recycled. Furniture needed to be labeled so it didn't disappear over the summer when the classrooms were cleared out and deep cleaned. My room was particularly difficult because I had adopted over one hundred books when they converted the library into a classroom. This meant packing up the books in boxes so the shelves could be easily moved. This is what I get for wanting to keep literacy alive. Unfortunately, I would have to complete this task under caffeinated as the coffee machine in the teachers' lounge broke this morning.

The final bell for the day rang, and after several warm goodbyes to Seniors who were moving on to brighter futures, I got to work. Lazily, I started with easier tasks, like cleaning my personal items off my desk and making sure my name and room number were still legible on my make-shift masking tape furniture labels from last summer. Most had survived the year of rambunctious teenagers using the furniture. I borrowed a trash bag from the janitor to clean out the school supplies I had purchased the year before. Triaging the supplies, I tested and investigated to see which ones could hold out another year and which to throw away. Silently I made note of which supplies I would need to stock up on in a few months when school starts again. It always astounded me what supplies the students actually used. For example, I had tons of lined paper left over, but all of my rulers were gone again this year. I don't even teach math so I am not sure why the few I have always disappear.

Grabbing my lunch from the teachers' lounge I found several discarded boxes; now, I didn't have to purchase my own packing supplies for all of those books. Assuming every student had now left campus, I felt safe enough to turn on my summer playlist and crank up the volume. Music would make this last mundane task of the year go by faster. Carelessly, I sang along to my favorite songs while Carefully placing the books in boxes so as to not over-pack them. Many of the books were coated in a layer of dust from sitting on the shelves all year long. It made me wonder if keeping them was even worth it if no one even read these books. These books could be taking up space in a public library or even a thrift.

Soon, cynicism overtook every thought. This year had been exceptionally difficult, with budget cuts preventing us from getting the curriculum supplies we needed. Instead of hiring a new teacher many of us had been volun-told to sell our prep periods to take on another class. Every year, the expectations seem to grow, but so do our class sizes and responsibilities. This last summer, we had to undergo tactical training on what to do if a gunman decided to open fire in our classrooms. I love my job and helping students, but every year, the burden we teachers bear just gets bigger and bigger. Even when the coffee maker is working, I am exhausted and burnt out.

Lugging these boxes to the back of my classroom along with all the other furniture I moved today, I couldn't help but feel defeated. My peers with 4-year degrees and a decade on the job are making way more money and are enjoying the benefits of having a career. Looking around my classroom, I try and calculate the cost of supplies I have purchased over the years. The maps, posters, bulletin board materials, pencils, pens, markers, paper, glue, scissors, endless supply of rulers, etc. The math is depressing.

Exhausted I decide to head home for the day. We still have several days of teacher work days next week, and the longer I sit here, the more I want to not return in the fall. I grab my laptop and begin to head out the door when I see a piece of folded-up paper on the floor. Thinking it must be another paper needing to be thrown away I bend down to pick it up. However, I noticed that my name is hastily written on the front. Picking it up, I place my stuff down so I can open it.

Dear Ms. Fisher

Thank you for always being there when we need someone to talk to. You have always seemed to know when something was wrong. Like last month, I came to your classroom at the end of the day to turn in some late work. You asked me if something was bothering me. We talked for a short while about things going on at home and you made sure I got to see the Counselor before you left for the day. Then you checked up on me for the next couple of weeks. You didn't know at the time but I had planned on going home and killing myself that day. If you hadn't talked to me or taken me to see the Counselor, I might not be here today. The Counselor called my mom and I am in therapy now. I just wanted to say thank you for caring.

Meghan

Quietly, I stood there, unable to move as I processed what I had just read. Tears that had been welling up now flowed freely down my cheeks. The futility I had been feeling just moments before had vanished. I will never see a dime for the extra work or ever be compensated for the money I have poured into my classroom, but the paper I now held in my hand made all of it worth it. Thank God I was still at school that day. I don't want to even think about what would have happened if I had left on time like I originally planned.

Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I fold the note back up and place it in my bag. Looking back at my classroom, I reflect on the gravity of the contents of the note. Helping students is why I became a teacher. While all of the problems and bureaucracy will still be here in August when I return, I leave with a little more hope that something we do here makes a difference.