Carl Bosch contemplates the school kids of the upcoming generation that he won’t know.
10,134 days down, 41 left
These are the students I will never know.
This is the first group of students who would have been in my care for their middle school careers who were born after the change of the new millennium. I look at their articulation cards and see 2001 or 2002 as their birth years. Recently, I’ve attended a series of meetings at our feeder elementary schools where several members of our middle school staff meet with elementary teachers and the parents. If this is their first child to enter middle school the parents’ apprehension is a bit higher. In general, they’re interested, engaged, worried, expectant, unsure. You can see the concern creep into the corners of their eyes and hitch in their voices.
They want to ask some hard questions about things they’re “heard” about the middle school. Rumors about “mean teachers”, or getting lost, or the big 8th graders bothering the newest kids. Sometimes they do ask those questions. I try to reassure them. “Everything will be fine”. I give them suggestions on how to make the transition smoother. I take copious notes to hand off to the guidance counselor who will take my place. I’ll try to coach that person to the nuances of each child. This one needs a little more TLC, this one a firm hand, this little girl is extremely shy and you’ll have to build a relationship slowly, that youngster is prone to saying socially inappropriate comments, that one will cry when overwhelmed by work. They’re all unique, all individuals.
The first students I ever had when I began back in 1974 are now right around 52 years old. A select few have actually become my friends. They’re invited to family gatherings, weddings, parties. Every so often I see a former student from 20 or 30 years ago at a restaurant, a retirement party, a function of one sort or another. Some look fantastic, some less so. Unfortunately, I sometimes read about them in the obituary column. Have enough students over time and it just makes sense that you’ll outlive a few. That’s always sad.
When I do see a student from the past I wonder about their lives and careers, their happiness quotient or the weight of the burdens they’ve had to carry. There was a time when they appeared so young to me. What I didn’t realize was that I was very young then too. At my 23rd birthday during my first year teaching, my 14 year old students threw a party for me at a local ice skating rink. I still remember it clearly. Complete with cake, goofy laughter and bad ice skating. They probably thought I was old. Really, I was just learning how to teach. The year 2000 seemed like a million light years away. Now my potential “would be” students were born in that year.
Given the nature of medical care, the concern for healthy habits, the admonition to not smoke and the primary health prevention focus in the modern world, it makes good sense that some of these new students who will enter middle school in September may live to see the change of the next century. They’ll turn 98 or 99 in the year 2100. It’s not unreasonable to imagine a fair share of them might look back and say, “I started middle school way back in the year 2012!” It’s harder to imagine what their lives will look like in the future, let’s say in 2052. They’ll be right around 50 then. I suppose they’ll have their own share of triumph and tragedy. Just like all the students I’ve ever had.
However it works out, I won’t hail them from across a street, catch up with them at a restaurant or bump into them at a wedding. I won’t ask them how they are, what they’ve done with their lives, how many children they have, whether they’re happily married or were. I won’t ask about the significant events of their lives. There will be no connection.
These are the students I will never know.
Photo credit: Flickr / U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service – Midwest Region