Cry, cry, cry and cry

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I thought by now I was tougher, cooler, or, at least more mentally prepared. But I wasn’t. And so I cried. And cried. And cried. I suppose it is only fitting that my time on the Navajo Nation ended much like the way it began.

But this time, it wasn’t me sobbing about all the work I had to do; rather it was me crying about all the work we had done. It wasn’t about children rolling around on the carpet making barnyard noises; it was about my 8th graders confidently explaining to high school transition specialists that they are ready for inclusion algebra because they have already mastered the skills taught in the fall. This time, I cried not because I was an outsider, but because I had become family. (However, I still needed to vacuum.)

I cried when one of my students voluntarily walked up to the podium during our special education banquet and explained to the audience that she struggled in 6th grade, but because the help from her mother, sister and teachers, she is going to be successful in high school. I cried when I was told that one of my students had no body odor (and therefore no nasty comments) for an entire week-long field trip, because he has now mastered using Depends. I cried when my kids grabbed crayons and scraps of paper to budget for their meal, including tax and tip, on our field trip to Cracker Barrel. (I also cried when the moving company kept canceling my scheduled pick-up.)

Much like the beginning, I cried. But this time I cried because I am blessed.