Yesterday, two males students who, from all outward signs, appear to be both balanced and well connected, provided a wistful, plaintive, and ultimately good-humored soundtrack to the Valentine's Day hubbub that inevitably sweeps through the hallways and classrooms of a school this time of year.
One spoke longingly of his elementary-school days, recalling the elaborately-decorated paper sacks he and his dad would create, in anticipation of the almost Communist-inspired class-wide distribution of Walgreen's-approved greetings that filled them. With any luck, there'd be a lusty Conversation Heart or maybe even a waxy, foiled Palmer "chocolate" glued--glued!--to the glossy card. Who could blame the guy for so fondly recalling his sucrose-laden fever dream?
The other? I'd just handed him--along with all of his other classmates--a perforated, 60s-themed Valentine from Walgreens, each one personalized with their names and signed by me, complete with a hand-drawn red heart before my name. (Yeah, I know--"How does she do it?!") After a minute of looking over his classmates' Valentines, he turned to me and said "You put a heart on everyone's? I thought mine was special. . ." And then we giggled. Kind of a lot.
Did I ever tell you how much I enjoy working with teenagers, who--when you get right down to it--are a vastly more appealing crowd than, say, the 114th Congress or a roomful of wealth-management advisers?
Valentine's Day is a beast of a holiday, though--too often, the ultimate have-and-have-not event in which lines are drawn not in sand so much as they are in $40 rose petals and spent Godiva-chocolate wrappers. You can understand if a guy or girl who heads home on the wrong side of that line might mistake him/herself as unloved. As a teacher, I have learned to wade these waters with care and a fair bit of that nostalgic spirit that my one student recalled.
Had I not just returned from a three-day stay at the Holt House for The Virally Suspect, I would have given each of those students a motherly hug along with their cards yesterday. But I think that they ultimately knew my sentiments were true--I really do love them. Despite all that Axe and angst, the acne and antics, they are worth loving and paying attention to.
I want them to know that I see them. That they count. That I am richer for these concentric circles we share.
Call me nostalgic, but these are the messages people need to hear today--that they are among the counted, flowers and candies be damned.
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