Seniors finished classes yesterday and practiced for graduation this morning. One of the final traditions is a senior walkthrough, a chance for the students and teachers to line the hall and cheer for the graduating seniors.
Boy, do they deserve our cheers. Our cheers, our congratulations, our respect. To survive high school in normal times is a challenge. I’m not only talking about academic performance. Of course that’s important, but it’s only part of the package. These young adults are pulled in many directions — work, family, school, extracurriculars, etc. — and are expected to perform well in all areas. They are also expected to keep their emotions in check and act like actual adults most of the time.
In reality, they are not adults. They may carry the burdens of adults, paying their own bills, managing time between school and work, dealing with friend drama, but they are not adults. The real adults in the world expect both too much and too little from these students — from the graduates and their fellow students.
We expect them to perform on an adult level, manage their lives without screwing up, be emotionally stable all. the. time. We expect from them what we, as actual adults, are often unable to deliver. And while we expect so much, we decide to ignore their opinions, devalue their experience, not trust their judgment.
We need to give them credit for what they survive. We need to respect the challenges they overcome every day. Each student faces a different reality. Some have perfectly stable home lives, and some live behind the façade of a perfectly stable home life. For others, there’s no illusion of perfection, stability, or family. We have students who couch surf through high school, students whose only meals come from school, students whose primary health care provider is our school nurse. The majority of seniors work at least one job; several work multiple jobs. They are responsible for car payments and insurance, along with paying for their own clothing, nights out, etc. Several students contribute to the finances of the household.
To the outside world, these young adults may seem rude or unrelatable, mouthy or irresponsible, and those attributes certainly exist; we are talking about teenagers. What the outside world doesn’t see, what these individuals are adept at concealing, are the completely adult burdens they bear.
Now add a pandemic and all its collateral damage.
Of course the students are frustrated. None of us do well with a complete lack of control. We want to know and understand what’s happening around us, to us. It’s easy for us, as adults, to minimize the importance of what the students have lost; we have decades of life experiences to balance out the disappointments. But for these kids, prom, extracurriculars, graduations — these are major life events. Their importance may be diluted over time, as other life events are enjoyed, but right now, these events are full strength — not diluted at all. The kids have a right to their frustration and anger and disappointment.
And for my students, let’s add in your teacher’s son dying by suicide less than a week into the year. What the hell to do with that? Adults didn’t (and some still don’t) know how to be around me, but you know what? These kids — these juniors and seniors — didn’t miss a beat. Some expressed their sympathy, but all welcomed me back a week after my son died and have traveled this bizarre journey beside me. Their reaction to something that surely rattled them has blessed me each day. They couldn’t know how I’d handle things; I didn’t know. But whatever my emotional state, the kids just hung right in with me. They weren’t afraid of me. They didn’t think my tragedy would rub off on them. They remained present. On the few occasions I teared up, we kept going.
Within the larger group of my students, there are a few who’ve lived what I’m living; they’ve lost family members to suicide or other sudden death. In a reversal of roles, those particular students welcomed me into a club of understanding. They reached out to me, suggesting ways to cope, recommending books, and offering perfectly-timed kindnesses.
I will never forget this group of students.
Do they sometimes make me crazy? Absolutely. That’s sort of their job. But they make me so proud. Proud to know them, to call them my students, to be part of their journey. There’s so much more than the sassy, chip-on-the-shoulder kids the world sees. There’s depth and insight, compassion and responsibility. I will forever remember and respect them.
Woods Writes 