Today marked two milestones in my career: I completed my fifth year of teaching and I said goodbye to another school. Husband's career has moved us around the past five years, so I've had the privilege of teaching in three different states at three wonderfully different schools. I'm sad to leave another set of kids behind, but excited to be returning home to family and friends. Goodbyes are hard, but I feel well-practiced at this point and when it comes to saying farewell to an entire student body, I've learned a few things. For example, how to gain from hanging my impending departure over my students' heads: "This is my sixteenth-to-last class with you and this is how you choose to behave?!" Just kidding. Sort-of. I have also become an expert at reassuring my students that my replacement will not be a fire-breathing dragon hellbent on making music class an inferno of misery. And finally, through many group hugs that have nearly smothered me and knocked me to the floor, I have learned that an orderly assembly-line approach is a better way to go. Today, I had second thoughts on the last of these.
My second graders were lined up at the door, each of them giving me a squeeze as they said goodbye. Or, "goodbye forever," in the case of my more dramatic kids. Given my height (very short), I have encountered a few awkward hugs over the years that involve accidental touching of the chest. Fortunately, the kids never notice. In fact, even in the times where I expect the child to pull away embarrassed, they have been oblivious. Until today, when one of those second graders reached up (I assumed he was going to try to hug my neck instead of my waist) and put both hands on "the girls." I looked down in confusion to find him pretending to look the other direction as if he had no idea what he was doing. In a flash, the "hug" was over and I stood there, dumbfounded as the rest of the class made their way through the line.
Let's play devil's advocate...
- He really was trying to hug my neck, but gave up halfway.
- He was trying to hug and push me at the same time.
- He was stretching.
- He has never hugged a woman. Ever.
Acknowledging the four possibilities above, I believe the following details make a strong case against his innocence. As previously mentioned, he approached me with arms up. His hands then landed with a small thud against my chest at armpit level and from there, they gradually slid downward an inch or two. It was at this point I realized it was no accident and saw him attempting to avert his eyes.
Another memorable year and another memorable moment.
My second graders were lined up at the door, each of them giving me a squeeze as they said goodbye. Or, "goodbye forever," in the case of my more dramatic kids. Given my height (very short), I have encountered a few awkward hugs over the years that involve accidental touching of the chest. Fortunately, the kids never notice. In fact, even in the times where I expect the child to pull away embarrassed, they have been oblivious. Until today, when one of those second graders reached up (I assumed he was going to try to hug my neck instead of my waist) and put both hands on "the girls." I looked down in confusion to find him pretending to look the other direction as if he had no idea what he was doing. In a flash, the "hug" was over and I stood there, dumbfounded as the rest of the class made their way through the line.
Let's play devil's advocate...
- He really was trying to hug my neck, but gave up halfway.
- He was trying to hug and push me at the same time.
- He was stretching.
- He has never hugged a woman. Ever.
Acknowledging the four possibilities above, I believe the following details make a strong case against his innocence. As previously mentioned, he approached me with arms up. His hands then landed with a small thud against my chest at armpit level and from there, they gradually slid downward an inch or two. It was at this point I realized it was no accident and saw him attempting to avert his eyes.
Another memorable year and another memorable moment.