Last night I went to a track meet to support some of my students. I have four students on the track team, and another who is talking about joining. The track team at the school I'm placed in doesn't get enough attention. While I was there I met the mother of one of my favorite students. She was very soft spoken and kind, and very supportive of her daughter. What stuck with me the most, however, was that during our introductions, she said that her child talks about me a lot at home. 

I remember the first time a parent ever said that their child talked about me at home. It was when I worked in a daycare center, and the child and I had bonded very quickly. She was a precious little blonde-haired, blue-eyed, angel of a child. She was sensitive and affectionate, and she loved to snuggle. My favorite part of hearing that she talked about me to her parents was knowing that I had to be doing something right. I hadn't ever worked with little kids before that. I didn't know what I was doing, and I wasn't really mature enough to handle it. That one child, though - she knew, even though I wasn't perfect, that I loved her. That was what I learned from hearing that she talked about me at home. 

The student that I have now has some self-esteem issues. She's a wonderful student, but she often doubts her abilities. She needs encouragement and one-on-one attention. Some days, she seeks that one-on-one attention so much that it disrupts her education. Those days, I'm more than happy to invite her to eat lunch with me, in my room, so that we can talk. She's a wonderful kid, and I have grown very fond of her. 

The rest of my students who run track don't seek my attention like she does, but they all were very happy to see me in the bleachers. They all came to visit me at different times during the night, and I congratulated them on their successes. The smiles on their faces were more than enough to prove to me that I hadn't just wasted nearly four hours of my life. Track meets are incredibly boring if you've never bothered to learn about the events before. 

At the end of each week, I like to reflect on the happy moments. This year has been incredible so far, and I can't imagine ever leaving my students. I'm lucky. Working in a Title I school, you never know what kind of environment you're going to walk in to. I got a great environment with a great culture. I love where I am. I love my coworkers. I love my students. I can't even fathom being somewhere else. 

So what happens if I can't get hired there next year? What if it isn't in the budget, or the principal just can't make it work? What if I have to leave? 

What if my next group of students isn't as fantastic as this group? What if next year's kids don't learn to love me like my students this year have? What if my next group of kids doesn't respond to my slightly self-deprecating sense of humor or my repeated attempts at fostering relationships with them? 

Or what if next years kids are every bit as wonderful and I have a hard time accepting that I can love all of those students equally? What if the current administration leaves and I get stuck with a principal who doesn't value my contribution like my current principal does? 

I know, realistically, that not every year is going to feel like this. Right now it's all very new and I'm very excited. Eventually, it will get more difficult, and I will get tired of certain aspects of the job. What then? 

I hope I never lose this feeling I have. I hope I never forget how amazing my students are, or how much I love seeing them learn and grow. I hope I never forget how much it means to me when they tell me that they want me to stay at the school, or that they love the way that I teach. I hope I always remember when my students invited me to their sporting events and smiled when they saw me in the stands. They're the whole reason I do this job. I love them, and I hope they always know that. If ever there comes a time when my students don't know how much I love them, I will know that it's time for me to move on.