Hello, Goodbye

Opposite events occurred these past two days that have left my mind in a twist. A very happy thing; a birth A very sad thing; a death. Both such pivotal moments for the friends and family for each. One with only happy thoughts, as well they should be. The other with a wealth of thoughts ranging from the happiest to the saddest.

Whenever a friend has a baby I seem to remember the very best parts of having a newborn. I mean, exclusively. You just don't think about all the hard adjusting that comes along with that cute bundle. And I guess that's probably how people end up having more than one. Of course, now that I'm in the full-swing of having a 2.3 year-old I'm wondering if we'll ever sign up for another...:)

That is the good side of the spectrum. Then comes the very opposite of birth. Saying goodbye. I don't have the right word to describe her connection to me. Co-worker is too removed, aquaintance too cold, close friends we never were, but I think she'd be comfortable with me naming her as friend and ally in the classroom.

I've only ever called her by her last name. She witnessed my inaugural year of teaching in NYC. She tried to help me as best she could. She threated her class with dire warnings whenever they came to me for Social Studies lessons, and she helped me feel like I wasn't the only one who had gotten emotionally trampled their first year. Although she had plenty of first-hand stories to share about her many unbelievable incidents, I still couldn't believe them. Because who would, or could ever disrespect a teacher personality such as hers? Whover did was a braver or crazier student than I have met.

I sat in on a couple of her ELA lessons in hopes of having some of her power rub off on me. I don't think it ever did, or could. It would be a hilarious sight to see me try to summon her ability to yell, or give off a world-class teacher stare down like she could. But what I did learn from watching her is that she knew the students were going to listen to her. You could hear it in her voice and see it in her body-language. While my stomach knotted when her kids rounded the corner, and lined up lazily in front of my door (for a double-period of hell on earth each Friday afternoon), my face would blanch an even whiter shade of pale and I would not know if I could hook them into listening, let alone sitting down in their assigned seats. I didn't have that power that teachers like her could summon. And the kids smelled it like a dog catching a fresh scent.

But time passed, and I fell into my way of teaching. And we came to share a wall my last year at IS 52, both teaching on the same floor. And because I am who I am I used some sick days occassionally for not-so-sick time off. And every time I would return she would come into my room the next morning and look at me and say "I could tell you were gone yesterday by the amount of times I heard yelling coming through that wall!" I loved hearing that :) I guess that means my kids where total monsters, but the point is they weren't for me :) I  give credit her for helping me get to be better, and survive my first year.

 

Death makes me remember the last time we spoke, or saw eachother or reminisced about those crazy moments. And happily my last time doing all of those things with Ms. Waldman was over a delicious brunch at Essex among friends, where I got to show off my little HP baby-bump and see her in a good health.

 

Whenever encountering what I feel is the craziest, or most disrespectful or simply uncontrolable child I think to myself, "no way will it ever be harder than Waldman's 7A5 in 2006". What doesn't kill us makes us stronger though, and Waldman definatly made me a stronger teacher. And I will miss her.