Day 26: Something that Means A Lot to Me

This is my desk at work.

Remember in my last post how I said I love seventh graders?  This is one of the reasons why.

Now before you go thinking that I have allowed hooligans to ruin a perfectly good desk, know two things:
1)  All the writing is on tape, or post it, or something that can easily be removed. (Well, not easily.  But it is not permanent.)
2)  This isn't a perfectly good desk.  It is old.  One of the legs is falling off.  It needed character.

There's a story behind the tape.
 

My third year at the junior high, I had a very special group of students.  These kids were the type that come along very rarely, and we were blessed to have a grade full of them.  They were bright and funny and creative and so much fun to teach.

My last period class that year consisted of 26 girls and 2 boys.  It was an advanced class, and Oh. My. Goodness.  They were such an amazing group.  The only problem was for a short period of time I didn't have enough desks, so each day, one girl would get the privilege of sitting at my desk.  They were sweet girls and I trusted them.

Imagine my surprise one afternoon when I went back to my desk and found several pieces of tape in various locations with little "love notes" written in silver Sharpie...

"Hi Mrs. Reed!"

"Mrs. Reed Rox!"

"Love you!"

"Thanks for letting me use your desk!"

Maybe I should've been mad.  But they made me smile.  From that point on, any girl that sat at my desk would leave a note.  I have several that claim to have been the originator of the tradition...honestly, it doesn't matter.

This is a shot underneath my desk.  They like to be sneaky sometimes. :)

Over the years, I've had to make rules for students wanting to leave their mark. 
1) You can't leave an anonymous note.  Your name must be included.
2)  Your note must be to me and not about how great you think you are.  It's my desk.  I need to know how great you think I am! ;)
3)  All notes must be in Sharpie and on tape or post it...otherwise it will disappear.
4)  Notes can only be left in the spring, and you must have my permission.

In some ways, my desk is a time capsule. There are some notes that are so blurred and faded with time that they are impossible to read...but I still know who wrote them.   The kids who wrote on it are, in some cases, 19 years old now.  But to me, they are still 12.  They still think I'm cool.  They still miss my class.  Their biggest problem is still not remembering the combination to their lockers.

Every year, kids move on to 8th grade, promising to come back and say hello...some do.  Most don't.  They get busy, they move away, they grow up, they find other role models.  And that's okay, because I still get to see what great young adults they become, and I get to feel like maybe I had a little hand in it. 

And that's what it means to be a teacher.