My Seniors 2009
A few weeks ago, after school was out I had to run into my classroom to make sure I had properly taken care of my refrigerator. The school was dark, empty, quiet. As I walked down the lonely hall and looked at the classroom doors, I missed my co-workers – it seemed odd that I was at school and they were not. It seemed everyone should be in his/her assigned room busily working. But it is summer now and school has been out a week. I was curious to see how my classroom would look – had the janitors been in yet? Were things moved around? Floors finally cleaned? Who was I fooling? Most everything was in its place – posters from our last unit were up, a few last minutes signs about summer reading were up. And of course, all the pictures and good-bye notes my seniors had left me were up. Then it hit me --they are really gone.
In my last 10 years of teaching, never I have I felt such passion for an entire class of students. “Some years are just like that,” my mom (a former teacher and administrator) said. I don’t know if these kids were different because they reminded me so much of my own senior class or because I saw how much affection and support they gave each other. The boys were not afraid to hug, or poke, or tap or push or pat and then hug some more. “He’s my brother,” they would say, “I’ve know him forever.” This year was different and because I left the 2009 school year with such fond memories, I thought I should get it down in writing because budget cuts are looming, class sizes will be rising and next year’s senior class has very big shoes to fill.
What is so admirable about this class is their heart. After reading their personal essays for college and reading their parent interview biography essays, I knew my students’ stories and their parents’ stories. So many had lost a parent at a young age; so many had a parent who suffered from cancer or another ailment; so many felt the bitter pain of their parents’ divorce; so many had parents who came to this country with nothing except the hope for a better life and education. And all of them, continued on with school, with extra-curriculars, with life without missing a beat and without complaining.
The rapport with these students laid its foundation their freshman year – I taught a couple of the freshman honors classes. They thought they were smart and I thought they needed to achieve much more as honor students. “Mrs. Murphy, don’t you remember freshman year, you asked me about my book The Diary of Anne Frank in front of the whole class? I was nervous and couldn’t answer a question and you didn’t think I read the book?!”
“I was really hard on you guys, I expected a lot.”
“It’s okay Mrs. Murphy. I like you now,” she said. But there were also the quirks that a particular class creates to make it memorable. In the 5th period freshman class, there was the bikini-clad Misha Barton picture that they had cut out. The TV show The OC was big back then, and we all watched it. She became our mascot, a character in our classroom during The Odyssey – would Misha make a good Penelope? Romeo and Juliet – no way Misha’s listening to that friar. But then, my principal attended a meeting that was being held in my room and Misha had to come down. He didn’t quite see the connection. Two years later, when they became juniors, I taught 3 very full classes. My 6th period was famous around school – 22 boys 11 girls. Holy moley. Just at the end of they day, when I was tired (and still sleep deprived from baby #2) I would have to psych myself up to teach this very loud, very active class. It was a challenge because I didn’t want the quieter, on-task girls to get over shadowed and at the same time I needed to funnel the boys’ energy in a positive way. Some how, I managed and they seemed to learn. By the end of spring semester, my classes were jamming. Out of the classroom, I watched how this junior class transformed itself into leaders for their upcoming senior year: They were determined to make their senior year great. And they did.
They motivated people to show up – to games, to dances, to volunteer events. On Fridays (red & white days) my entire senior class would be a sea of red. It was so cool. But what was special about these seniors that deepened my connection with them is that they were persistent in invading my space. My cell phone banner name was changed numerous times; the desktop picture on my computer was always changing to a picture of them; my down time at school was invaded with them coming to hang out in my classroom; and they invaded my spirit by tearing down my walls. On pressing matters, I could never say no to them, which by the way is my favorite word. “Murphy, I need your 2nd period class to be part of a dance video for the homecoming dance on BTV. Can we do it?” There I was dancing--for God’s sake-- leading my 2nd period in a conga line to promote the homecoming dance. My co-worker joked that I was becoming a Super Senior.
“Murphy, we need you to be a swing dance partner for the rally, will you do it?” Ugh.. Seriously? I did it.
“Murphy, we need you to play “shoot out” at the indoor rally. Will you do it?” Basketball? Really? I can’t shoot a basketball. But, I did it. Everyone enjoyed giving me a hard time for the half-court granny shot. As a teenager, I would have died inside, but now, who cares? They took my picture during that rally and hung it up on the Rally Bulletin board. I autographed it.
The last favor was the ultimate sacrifice for me, “Murphy, we need teachers to play basketball for the Hoops for Hope game against Carlmont.”
“Like in a real game? Full court?” Are you kidding me? I haven’t played basketball since 8th grade. “Ma-lissa git out of da key!” The PE teacher would yell. And I would think, “What in the hell is they key?” But, I rose to the occasion. I learned that when I’m on offense, I don’t play defense. It was awful, but I did it. I guess that’s what’s great about getting older, you can make a fool out of yourself doing something and your kids will respect you for it – ‘cause there ain’t no way they are going to make a half-court granny shot. They forced me out of my comfort zone and made me laugh almost every day.
Early in the school year, their enthusiasm to play in the 2nd period volleyball tournament could not be stopped. Even when the refs started to give us a hard time, the boys calmed down and had nothing but a respectful team spirit. I bought copies of a team picture and gave it to every student in the class. When my daughter was sick and I had to stay home with her, I received a text that said, “This sub sucks.” When I attended the boys’ basketball tournament game, they chanted my name. Yes, in the Santa Clara University gymnasium with my two daughters around me, they chanted: “Murph-y, Murph-y.” I thought well, this is the first time my name has been chanted at a sporting event.
At the end of the school year, I was assigned to “work” graduation, but I actually looked forward to it. Honestly, during the entire graduation– lining up, the procession, and the ceremony -- I couldn’t stop smiling. I was and am so proud of all of them. One student stopped his friend after he received his diploma, gave him a manly hug and whispered to him, “I love you man. Thanks for being there for me.” They did their handshake and I was touched. “Murphy, are you crying? Hey, Murphy’s crying.”
“I am not crying, people. This is a happy time. Shhhh.”
Afterwards, I was delighted to see how many wanted their picture taken with me. At my high school graduation, I don’t remember wanting my picture taken with any teacher (except one). Who wants to be around adults? When I was their age, I sure didn’t. I never wanted to grab a sandwich and go hang out in a teacher’s room, but they do. I never would have gone up to a teacher who was chaperoning a dance to say hello, but they do.
In August, when school starts up again, I will miss their energy when they come bouncing into my class.
“Can I run out to my car to get my homework? My book? My paper? My cell? My permission slip?”
“Murphy, you hungry? Can we go to the doughnut shop?”
“Can I use your laptop to check something?” (Fantasy scores)
“Can I step out to the hallway to call my mom?” (boyfriend/girlfriend)
“Can I print something out from your computer?” (paper that's due this period)
“Hey, your phone is ringing. No phones, Murphy!” (daycare)
“Murphdawg, what are THOSE pants all about?”
“Hey, are you going to get rid of those pants? Can I wear them to the rally tomorrow?”
“Murphy, you drive a mini-van?!”
“Can I turn my paper in to you tomorrow?”
“What if I…?”
“What if you just give me an A and we’re all good?”
“Murphy, what do you want for lunch, we’re going to get sandwiches?”
“Are you in a bad mood? Watch out, she’s in a bad mood today.”
“Can we just do nothing today?”
“Can we play volleyball, come on it’s Friday?”
“Uno! Lets play Uno! Come on, it's Friday.”
“She has a Face Book page?!” “Oh, I’m adding her.”
“I am not late. They bell was ringing. Don’t you even mark me tardy.”
“Oh, come on Murphy, you know we’re your best friends.”
“How was your day, Murphy? You good?”
I do hope upon their graduation that they travel our country and not just to Hawaii. I hope that they continue to show support and love for one another like they have this past year. I hope they come back to visit and rattle on to me about all their happenings, problems and heartache without, of course, missing a beat.
P. S. Flesh Kincaid grade level: 4.8 (ouch!)
Passive Sentences 2%
