It’s the last day of the marking period, and my 6th grade classes have completed all of their end-of-unit tests. To celebrate the milestone of completing their first marking period of middle school and our finished assessments, we watch the 2003 version of the classic “Peter Pan.” The movie connects beautifully to the Essential Question of our finished unit which asked, “What are the Challenges and Triumphs of Childhood?” The students are excited, and one sweet girl brings me five bags of microwave popcorn. She asks if she can use the microwave to share a movie-watching treat with her classmates. We do that, of course.
As Peter Pan plays, I find myself drawn in and neglect the paperwork I thought I might do while the students enjoyed the movie. We get to the last scenes of the film during which the characters begin repeating the mantra, “I do believe in fairies; I do, I do!”to bring Tinkerbell back to life. My kids, seated at their desks, simultaneously begin chanting along, “I do believe in fairies; I do, I do.” Granted, some say it with a tinge of sarcasm, but I still feel tears welling up behind my eyes as I remember, “This is why I was meant to teach middle schoolers.”
It’s rare for this validating feeling of reasssurance to hit me twice in one week, but it does. Later in the week, my 7th graders have started reading the drama of “A Christmas Carol: Scrooge and Marley.” We pick parts and a quiet, normally reserved young man, Marc, volunteers to play the part of Scrooge. He is amazing; his low baritone voice is perfect. He even develops a bit of an old English accent, and his performance is mesmerizing. The next day when we resume the reading, his classmates clamor, “Marc must keep reading the part of Scrooge!” I look toward Marc to gauge his willingness. He’s smiling, a big smile like I haven’t often seen. He nods and says humbly, “I can do that.” There I am again, feeling the tears. I blink them away and get back to the business of the play.
I’m comforted in these moments that I’m right where I should be. Adoloescents can be so painfully kind and good and full of hope. They are “my people.” When the tardy bell rings and the classroom door closes, it’s just us. All the turmoil about learning loss, “bulldozer parents” attacking our curriculum, and the banning of books falls away. It’s just us, reading great stories, writing from our imaginations, and believing that good will prevail.
Yes, I do believe in public education; I do, I do!
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