Happy Endings

Image by Michal Jarmoluk from Pixabay

Somehow it’s April and student teaching is behind me. I spent January and February learning how to teach a class of second grade students online, and then I spent March getting to know them in person.

As hard as it was to say goodbye, I had the incredible fortune of telling them that I’d see them again next year—the school offered a contract and I happily accepted. I am going to be a second-grade teacher.

I remember when my son was in second grade and how I especially enjoyed volunteering that year. I remember thinking that maybe I belonged in education, that once I could devote myself full time to a career, it should be a career devoted to children. Now, after some surprising twists and turns, that time is here, and it feels like a dream come true.

Come July, I will be furiously prepping for the school year—planning with my team, poring over the curriculum, setting up my very own classroom (!!!), and nervously awaiting the August arrival of 25-30 seven-year-old students.

Until then, I am settling into a quieter place—that dreamy, unbound state of mind where creativity flourishes, where stories take root and grow. The next story is already there, waiting. I wonder if it will grow wild or if it’s one of those that needs to be carefully tended in order to bloom. Either way is okay with me.

I know a few things: it’s middle grade. It’s a summer story. And, as befits this year of happy endings, it’s a fairy tale.