January 6th, 2010

We were talking about Russia. I had no idea that he had any interest, but he raised his hand to answer nearly every question. Nearly everyone in class was participating today and I thought about how wonderful it was to be standing in front of a class of 16 year olds, silhouetted by the projector hanging from the ceiling of my classroom, my classroom, actually engaging in discussion about Ghengis Khan and the instability of Ivan the Terrible and having my students, well most of them atleast, be so present in the moment. Not staring into space or doodling in the margins, but actually making comments, and waiting, impatiently at times, to share something that they once read about the Golden Horde or Greek Fire. I recognized the moment while I laughed as one student stretched his arm and stood on his toes as he waited to be called on. I felt proud in a way, not for myself really, but for the kids; for allowing themselves to be a part of the class, which kids often seem to reject on principle alone, and amused by their dark yet silly sense of humor; I felt amazed at their ability to wonder and to ask questions and express their opinions. I was completely intrigued by them and excited at the infinite possibilities that lay in ahead for them. I loved that moment and feeling even for one split second that I was a part of those possibilities and in someway intertwined with their futures; whether they loved me or hated me; remembered me forever or forgot my name the first day of summer break; majored in history or never took another history class for the remainder of their life, I was always going to be atleast some small part of their past, and consequently, atleast some minuscule part of their future.