September 15, 2011 began as any other day. It was Thursday - game day - at Simmons Middle School. The kids were excited as they always are before a football game. Something about boys in jerseys and girls in cheer jackets that heightens the normal schoolhouse buzz. Anticipation filled the air, but no one anticipated how the day would end. Life would change later in the morning.
For one girl, this day would be her last. A ride to school ended fatally for a former student of Simmons. She had moved on to the high school but her sister was younger and still in middle school. Both girls were connected in the community and beloved by those who knew them. As a teacher, I suspected the worst when the emails began to come from administrators. Monitor strictly for cell phone use, do not discuss the events with anyone - even teachers, pray for the best, prepare for the worst. The messages were written to protect the younger sister that remained in class but the tone indicated hope was lost. When the sister was removed from the classroom and taken home to be with her family the order was given for us, me, the teachers to deliver the news to the students.
I knew this would be difficult but failed to understand how it would effect me. I didn't know the girl that lost her life or the sister. What I didn't account for was that my students did. I began delivering the news to twenty-two students. They sensed something was wrong but never saw the worst coming. When I mentioned the girl that had lost her life by name a girl near me eagerly said, "Hey, I know her." I paused. At that moment the gravity of the situation hit me. This was going to be difficult, not because I knew the girl, but because I knew the students I was telling. In that moment I realized my voice, and my face would be seared in the minds of these students. For most all of the twelve-year-old's in the room this would be the first loss of someone they knew, especially someone their age. I kept my composure and finished the task at hand. Then the tears flowed; not mine, but those of many of the students. Boys and girls alike emotionally broke down as the reality surfaced: the girl they knew was gone.
Delivering the message was the most difficult task I've had as an educator. But I survived and grew from the moment. It refocused me on why I do what I do. I teach history because I love history, but I teach because I love influencing the lives of kids. This was a painful reminder, but a reminder nonetheless, that my role as a teacher is bigger than the curriculum. It's about being there for the kids when they need me the most. An encourager, a motivator, a shoulder to cry on, a neck to hug, a teacher of civics. That's what I do, and the order in which I'll do it.
