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Every fall, students walk into my room. Some try to act tough, like they don't want to be there, and they hate me for being there. Some try to make me feel good by staring attentively and smiling at me. Some try to hide- from me, from their peers, and often from themselves. These students all listen to my talk about rules and consequences. They hear a lot about respect and attitude. They don't really care- I know this, but I do it any way.

Within the first week, some of their personalities start to emerge, and I start to get a sense of these students as individuals. They start to grow on me. I begin to remember most of their names on sight. They begin to smile more often. The tough kids are a little less so in the room- they even laugh once in a while.

Within the first month, they stop being students and start being MY KIDS. I know their names- even the ones who hide in the back. They begin to open up to me, and I begin to take on their feelings as my own. Often it is exhausting. But, I continue because I can see that for most of them, I am getting through, and they feel more comfortable. There are still some whom I'm not reaching, and I work harder to try to reach them.

By the end of the first grading period, I can look around the room without a list and tell you who is absent. I can tell if one of them is having a good or bad day by their body language. They have accepted the fact that they are going to listen to James Brown, Tchaikovsky, or obscure Latin jazz music- depending on my mood. They are no longer startled when I pat them on the back as I pass by. I think that most of them realize how much I care, and they like me for it.

At the end of the first semester, I can't imagine that I will ever have a group of kids as great as this one. I know their favorite music and movies- their best friends and boy/girlfriends. I look at sonogram pictures with 14 year-olds who don't understand why the life growing inside them doesn't look like a baby yet. I cheer when braces come off. Sometimes they drive me crazy, but always I love them.

All of this is overwhelming. Sometimes it can be so painful. Sometimes they make choices that will devastate their lives, and others, and all I can do is watch. Sometimes they recover from these choices, but in my experience, this is slow to occur. I know it is important to focus on the good that I do, and not dwell on the failures, but these are kids- they are not statistics. They are all born with unlimited potential, but by the time they reach me, most of them do not realize this. The world has told them differently, and most do not have the confidence to argue. Our society has told them that they will never be successful, and they believed it.

I have 110 students. They are all special to me. They all need something from me- a kind word, a hug, a shoulder to cry on, a smiley-face sticker (yes, even with urban 8th graders, these are very popular). In their defense, they do give a lot back to me- they give me a kind word and a hug when I'm having a bad day. They make get well cards when I'm sick, and thank me when I do something extra for them. I still function on an emotional deficit most of the time. When one of them is really in trouble, it taxes my reserves even more. Tonight I feel like I'm hollowed out- I don't know that I can give anything else to anyone. I want to be selfish and wallow in my own sadness. I want to cry and drink cocoa and listen to sad music. Why do they do these things? They are only children- not old enough to drive or vote, yet they can make choices that will alter their lives forever. I just can't talk about this any more- good night.