Growing Nostalgia

Often when I tell people I began my career teaching high school, I joke that I could never go back.

But the last time I made that proclamation, I questioned it the moment it left my lips. I love teaching college—of this I have no doubt—but was teaching high school really so bad?

This week, I spoke with my close friend and former colleague Allison. She was (and, I suppose, still is) my unofficial mentor, and I credit her for my survival in the career of education. She teaches Advanced Placement Language and Composition—and this year, she taught in eleventh grade the last Gifted and Talented students I taught in ninth grade.

Allison had just received the AP Exam scores, so she recounted how each of her (our) students performed. Two 5s, a handful of 4s, a bunch of 3s, and two 2s: a winning scorecard for that high school.

Upon hearing the news, I felt a swell of pride for my former students. I can imagine how much they've matured these past two years, and I remain curious about how they'll do their senior year and where they'll attend college. Time and distance have made me no less fond of those kids.

But it's not even specific to those students: I began recalling other interactions I had with students during my tenure as a high school teacher, and there are so many sweet memories. I haven't for a moment forgotten how difficult teaching high school was—the long hours, the discipline, the paperwork, the parents, the bullshit—but somehow time has caused those memories to fade while the better ones have remained in focus.

So could I go back? Someday, maybe. But right now, I think I'll enjoy my role as a lecturer. I need more time for my nostalgia to grow.