We'll sit together, the daughters and I, playing card games. We mostly play Uno. I've taught them how to talk trash. Respectfully of course. And while laughing and gently prodding each other, I will use references from The League: "It's your turn! Hurry up and go, Chalupa Batman!"
Earlier in the week I learned that a former student had been killed. It had been so long since I heard his name or thought about him that I couldn't be sure if he even passed through my classroom.
As I moved through the week fragments of memories began to find find their way back to one another until a whole vision presented itself - then I saw his picture and my suspicions were confirmed. Then more memories returned.
He was nice. That sounds vague. I'm not being purposely vague but the sad truth is that with so many students passing through my door each year it can be a challenge to recall minutia about them all. It becomes even more difficult when you consider the age. Many tend to not readily open themselves up to adults and then the year passes by and they're off to the next grade. These are moments I lament. I feel like, having not made that long lasting inroad, I have failed in some way. But I know he was nice, and that's something.
My 7th period class was a challenge during that first year of teaching. The students were challenging. The word "challenging" is a euphemism but a much needed one. They're only kids after all. But it is the nice students who bring balance and allow sanity to prevail.
Losing a child, especially one so young, is something we can conceptualize but never fully comprehend unless forced to endure such a tragedy. I also can't imagine losing out on the opportunity to enjoy such trivial pursuits as playing card games with my kids and kindheartedly trash talking one another.
I can envision his parents fondly recalling such memories right now.
Rest in peace.
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