I was coming in an hour late today because we needed me to stop off at a hardware store to get the supplies for the garden box (after which I am fairly certain hell is being a female customer in the lumber section of a hardware store, for eternity).
When I got to the program space I was greeted by a rush of kids who acted like they thought I was never coming back.
Apparently the supervisor had said to them that they would miss me if I was gone. I have no idea what the context for that was — I’ll have to ask tomorrow. But the kids translated this as (and told me that they were told), “_____ is leaving.”
It’s two months before my lease is up and the summer programs are over and I actually leave them. The supervisor had said that the timing worked so well that it would be an easy, organic transition — so now, as I find myself once again looking for ways to stay here, with them, I feel guilty doing so. It isn’t the same as a school position — there’s no scripted moving-on time. It’s hard to know when the time is actually right, or whether you’re doing the kids a disservice by leaving or hanging around.
But now a handful of them know for sure that if I don’t find a teaching position I’ll be leaving, and that if I do I’ll likely still be leaving, because the schools closest to them (not their district, but neighboring ones) have let me know that I’m not what they’re looking for. The way information spreads, the whole town will know by Monday.
Well, no, the way it spreads in this particular town, by Monday I will be leaving them because I killed someone and/or am going to the moon. But at least it will give me an interesting note to leave on.