In an effort to get the new teacher to cry, the kids teased her, but a few minutes later, something unexpected happened.
There hasn’t been a permanent literary teacher in the tenth grade for a while. One resigned after just one month, and the other took maternity leave. As Anna, youthful, calm, and neat, came, the students exchanged glances: “Another one. She will not be here for long.
The first lesson was initially a test.
“All right, open your notebooks,” the instructor said.
“We didn’t bring any!” a voice from behind yelled. Laughter.
“Perhaps introduce yourself before attempting to teach?” said another sneeringly.
All right. “Anna,” she said calmly.
The laughter increased in volume. Those glasses, which were identical to Grandma’s, had a scent reminiscent of perfume from a century ago.
Someone put the sound of a donkey squealing on their phone. The class burst out laughing. While she was explaining something at the board, one student threw a paper airplane at her back.
The teacher turned around.
“Are you going to cry and run off like the last one?” someone said out loud enough for her to hear.
Someone yawned loudly, and their textbook dropped to the floor. Others followed, with books toppling, chairs groaning, and a bold individual using their tablet to browse TikTok.
Then, gently and seemingly casually, Anna sat down on the edge of her desk and said, “Her remarks made the whole class freeze.”
You know, I wasn’t always a teacher. Exactly one year ago, I worked on a teen cancer ward. They were your age. Some of them only wanted to live long enough to finish their schooling. Everything was important to them, including literature, poetry, and just having someone to talk to.
A boy, seventeen years old. The diagnosis is sarcopenia. We read aloud from books together as he was no longer able to converse.
There was a slight quietness in the class.
He held on to the book even after his fingers stopped twitching. He remarked, “I wish I had loved books earlier.” I just want to sit in a regular class now. No IV.
It was evident that the room was quiet.
“A girl from the next room dreamed of going to school,” the teacher said. just sitting down in a real classroom. All of you… pretending that even though you’re living their dream, life still owes you something.
— I will not pity you or beg you. I understand its worth. And if you want to know, keep on as you are.
She stood up, moved her glasses, reorganized the pile of notebooks on the desk, and opened the class register. For the rest of the class, there was no sound.
