I first met Bert as a hard-to-sit-still seventh grader. I'd taken the year off of teaching to be available for my parents. Dad died the first week of school, and I was thankful I could stay with Mom without school responsibilities.
The previous spring, the principal had asked me to take over the seventh graders for six weeks while their teacher was on maternity leave. This could be fun, I thought. I was used to seniors and why not try looking through a different lens?
It was rough; I loved it. There was only one seventh grader I found difficult.
And one day, I sent him out to the hall because he couldn't function. I felt bad. I was kind. But I had to do something.
The six weeks went quick; they went to slow. I was happy and sad on my last day.
I only had to wait six years before those tiny seventh graders became my seniors. How their maturity had changed.
In the interim, I went with a group of students to Ecuador to work in a special needs orphanage. Bert's parents had signed him up. My co teacher hesitated about letting him come along. But he did.
He was magnificent. Helpful. Dedicated. Exuberant. Loving. Never a problem, but it had been four years.
The day soon arrived when he sat in my Socratic Seminar, grade 12. He was still a delight. Quick to smile. Quick to laugh. Quick to offer his opinion and make a contribution to the discussion.
Halfway through the year, I left for France, three months later, schoolchildren everywhere were sent home for the rest of their school year.
Two years passed and one day a big, happy, young man, grabbed me in a bear hug.
It was Bert.
His happiness was water in a parched desert. It was measles-contagious. It was energy to sprint the last mile in a marathon.
"Bert, would you like to come speak to the students during lunch time?"
He was thrilled.
His topic was Happiness is a Choice.
Indeed.
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