Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear
Photo by Jake Weirick on Unsplash
The final bell, for me the sound of retirement and freedom, waited to ring on the last day of school, out of reach and far away.
Then it shrilled in my ears, and in spite of the scramble of finals, grading, and packing, caught me unprepared.
The last student out the door, the last box in my car, the last key turned in…
Now I’m home, trying to digest how this is different from any other beginning of summer vacation.
No more repetitive compliance videos, completed every summer to prove I hadn’t regressed mentally.
No more assigned professional development of little relevance to my content.
No more student apathy, disdain, or disrespect.
No more learning 150+ names every August, taking attendance, or marking tardies.
No more Eduphoria, Skyward, or teaching software, ad nauseum.
No more policing cell phones, or cheating, or bullying.
No more begging for late/missing assignments from the unmotivated.
No more redundant paperwork of no benefit to students.
No more fear of a lawsuit for protecting myself or stating the obvious and the truth.
No more documenting of differentiating instruction for IEP’s or 504’s–otherwise known as good teaching.
No more lesson prep which I may or may not follow, as my best lessons are dynamic and adjusted on the fly to meet students’ immediate needs.
No more battles with a copy machine with a personal grudge against me.
No more grading approximately 2,000 assignments every six weeks.
No more wearing a “harness”–lanyard with keys and ID, required at all times and most definitely during security drills, preparing for the random school shooter.
Also, no more student hugs, wholehearted and awkward, or clumsily worded notes of gratitude left on my desk.
No more camaraderie with fellow teachers, commiserating about yet another mandate from the state.
No more invigorating pep rallies with confetti and fan fervor.
No more moments when the lesson pops, and the kids get it.
No more returning to my language classroom, with vibrant curtains of Seville, my copy of Neruda’s sonnets, and an Aztec calendar on the wall.
No more meet-the-teacher evenings, with curious parents and apprehensive students, shy and eager.
No more busy buzz of students returning after a break, eager to see friends and make a fresh start.
No more satisfying restocking of pens, pencils, journals, tape, glue sticks, post-it notes, and hand sanitizer.
No more finishing out a grading cycle with the satisfaction that comes with closure.
No more classroom jokes gently binding my students and me together in an agreement of cooperation and good humor.
No more being among the young and feeling the energy of possibilities and dreams.
I am tired. It’s been a good run. I am ready to let it go.
But I still glance in the rear view mirror and remember.
© 2025 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved
Note: None of my content is AI generated.
Thank you for reading! I appreciate your support.
Please subscribe below!
You may also find my writing on Joyce Martin on Medium
If you choose, you may tip my writing at:
Substack link: joyous461.substack.com
Joyousroad's Weblog 