Friday was Mr. Jones’s last day at I.S. 666. He is the fourth teacher to quit since September. I feel weird about Jones leaving, because I was so sure I’d leave before him in those first hellish weeks of school. He’d come by my classroom after school most days and patiently lean in the doorway as I recounted the day, angry tears welling up in my eyes. Drunk on disappointment, I’d stagger around in uncomfortable shoes and slowly take down all the posters and personal touches I’d so carefully put up in Room 108.
Now he’s gone.
Mr. Jones threw his homeroom class a pizza party Friday, complete with chips, sodas, and the latest hip pop blaring from a stereo. He invited Karen and I in, so we had a slice of pizza and joked around with the students. There were pictures. Some boys sat at a table and played cards. It was actually the most civil and calm time of the day, contrary to what might be expected. The food was all shared. No one fought. No freaky dancing ensued. I walked from table to table stealing students’ chips and making sure they got in the class picture. Everyone smiled.
For once, we were all full. I think it was a great way for Jones to remember what he did like about teaching - that sense of connection and camaraderie between student and teacher, however fleeting it may be. Of course, a meddlesome and persnickety administrator with an unknown job description (I’ll call her Ms. Sourberry) later approached Jones and said the pizza party was inappropriate.
Well, I guess Jones still kind of needed to remember why he decided to leave, too. Thanks, Ms. Sourberry. Great job, as always.
