The Sweet Spot

Finally, I think I’ve found it.  That point in the semester where teaching becomes infinitely easier.  When I stop losing sleep over our lack of progress in The House on Mango Street, when I realize that nope, they just won’t be ready for final exams.  That’s right.  I’ve given up.  And it’s beautiful.

We have two and a half weeks of school remaining.  Less, really, between the science fair and the end of semester dance and activities.  My third period is less than halfway through To Kill a Mockingbird, and as of Monday, I was reading as fast as I could and assigning twenty pages for homework to try to push them through it.  But now I’ve given up.  We’re not going to finish.  And those essays on Syrian refugees?  Also not happening.

I teach the same kids all year.  They’ll be a little dumber (and, somehow, a LOT taller) when they come back from winter break, but a day of review and we’ll pick it up where we left off.  Boo Radley will not sneak out of his house while we’re away.  The Logans won’t lose the farm.  Jordan’s not going to climb Everest while we’re not looking.  I had this epiphany yesterday, and I’m suddenly breathing easier. 

So are the kids.  When I stopped in the middle of a paragraph to discuss and ask some questions yesterday, I heard an audible sigh of relief.  No more racing through great books on an arbitrary timeline.  We’re slowing it down.  We’re going to actually enjoy it.  (Or at least I will.  And, like, five of the kids will.  And that’s good enough for me.)  Their final will be a text dependent essay on the first half of the book, which probably meets some standards or something, right?  For the next two weeks, we’re going to take breaks and discuss and tell stories and watch the occasional YouTube video.  Will it be related to the book?  Possibly.  I bet there’s something out there involving Harper Lee reenacted by kittens.