And so tomorrow morning we start. Last year's graduates for the most part are off to college, where we can only hope we properly prepared them as best they would let us. Older graduates return to college or to jobs, where again we hope they learned something of lasting value during their time in high school.
Tomorrow begins my tenth year of teaching, almost exclusively teaching high school seniors. I have my class rolls, filled with mostly unfamiliar names. The room is as ready as it is going to be; Monday's plan is ready; the powerpoint prepared, the handouts copied. After ten years I'm still nervous. Probably more nervous than most of the students who will sit before me tomorrow. You see, they see the light at the end of the tunnel - graduation. They're 17 or 18 and are ready to move on in life, to gain and exercise independence, to end this phase of their lives. From my side, I see the potential, and the future of our country and civilization, and I worry that I will be up to the task. I worry that I will adequately prepare them for college, while at the same time helping to prepare them for life. I know going in that some will like me, some will like my courses, and that some will dislike me and the subjects I teach.
And this nervousness is what convinces me that I am in the job that I was meant to do. The excitement of teaching, of trying to show someone new things, to show new ways of thinking, to expand horizons and opportunities - that's the thrill of teaching. And every year we get a new crop of students, and although some of the material and some of the lessons are the same, the discussions never are, the class personality never is, and the bonds we form with the students never are. It's a new job every year.
By May, I'll be tired and grumpy, whereas tomorrow I'll just be relatively rested and grumpy. But I really love what I do, and I can't wait until 8:45 tomorrow: IB Economics, and away we go.