I feel very blessed. Last year I wanted to read aloud to a class, so I called it Listening skills, and six people signed up. A year later, four remained; one my own son who couldn’t drop the class if he wanted to. But for one of them, it was a class with one of her favorite teachers; “Mom, I want to take her class! It will be fun.” She had never taken a class from me before, but when her teacher was late repeatedly, I sat in and led her class to learn cool things together while we waited. I learned from her a new appreciation for Edgar Allen Poe. She loves his work.

My son did very well in the class and enjoyed it; I’m not surprised. He’s a cheerful personality and he enjoys time with people, any people. I don’t think he’s found anyone yet that he doesn’t have empathy or connection with. They may not be best friends, but he has no enemies.

One student disappeared mid-first-semester. I subbed in another class he was in, when he had an ethical conflict with the video the regular teacher had chosen. I tried to explain in a way that showed him I understood some of what he felt; afterwards he told his mom and she pulled him out of all the classes. The site coordinator told me the mom was homeschooling to keep her children away from ideas she objected to. Well, good luck with that, Mom. He’s going to hear conflicting messages a lot. I hope you teach him more coping skills than just shutting it out.

One student switched to another class at the same time; no one told me. She just didn’t show up anymore, and when I met her in the halls, she smiled, embarrassed. I asked, and she said she had switched. We were reading The Wonderful O by James Thurber when she left, so I smiled and said, “You get to keep your O’s!” She smiled then.

The remaining two students are two of the unusual learners that hide in cheerful or quiet facades; one speaks quickly with cheerful sarcasm and surprise. The other speaks very little unless pressed. He didn’t say much on any topic, until the next to last day. It took weeks of observation and encouragement to get them to open up. Then one day the girl gave me a hug in the hall. I felt seen, appreciated.

The boy had his mother in class with him every time. He has a learning disability and English is not his first language; she stays close, I think to support him. But on the next to last day, each student was supposed to give a short oral presentation. My son was home, ill. The other students stared at each other; finally one of them stood up and read us Annabel Lee, by Edgar Allen Poe. She spoke clearly, a little too fast from nervousness; I asked the others how she did. They said it was good; I told her we could hear her. We clapped. She told us that Poe wanted to write comedy, but his horror stories earned money. He was typecast.

The second demonstrated how to use a fork. She smiled and we laughed a bit as she finished; it was very short and involved stabbing an imaginary steak.

This quiet boy was the only one left. His mother was not present. He reluctantly looked in his backpack. He told us he had forgotten his presentation, so he pulled out his phone and looked up something. After a minute, he haltingly read to us a book description for a book he really likes. It took one of the girls a few seconds to understand that it was a murder mystery; she exclaimed in surprise. This led to his smile; he enthusiastically read us several more. We talked for a while about murder mystery authors and TV series. He forgot he was being listened to, and just spoke. We had fun.

I know that God is watching out for me and for my students. They needed this class; I needed to teach something I love. I’m glad to know the students better. They are good people with their own quirks and interests and challenges.