look at him now

Funny what kids remember, that they have, even, their own points of view.

"You know I get along with everyone," I insist to the cross-town senior come to visit who tries to elicit an opinion that may not be kind.

"Oh yeah?" he fires back. "Then why do I remember me and Yesenia and everybody else I knew outside in the hall having one of your talks?!"

"I wasn't the one not getting along," I say. "And you know it," I think, "but at least one of you grew up."

I love this kid; he's my favorite, all time. Except, you know, for all the others. He's always been exactly himself, even in middle school, which is a bit of a miracle. And now he's the same as he's always been except different, and what I love most is the metamorphosis. Yes, the bad highlights are gone, and he's about eight feet tall, and I have to bite my tongue not to turn into a hundred year old woman and cry, "look at you!" when I see him, but, beyond that, he's found a certain maturity. One that allows him to realize when he has no idea what he's doing (today's topic: college) and turn to those he knows best, at this point not to say, "Do it for me," but, "What should my first step be tomorrow?" (I swear to God he said that.) Oh, I don't know, come right back here and show these ninth graders how it's done?

Way back in the beginning, one thing that made me trepidatious about teaching was the very time-marches-on nature of it. All those people getting ready to go and do while I stayed put was just too off-putting, and I still think it's important to have one's own ambitions or else it gets a little weird. But as young as I was back then (even Brett Favre was a punk kid), I never would've anticipated the satisfaction of watching certain students come into their own, and now helping them is really why I do it. That and I enjoy their company. If there were money in helping out and offering advice and then writing random crap that people may or may not ever read, I'd have the best job ever, and I'd certainly be rich.