On leaving speeches.

I'm coming to the end of my third teaching job, and weirdly starting to get excited about the leaving speech.

For French A-level, we studied a book called "La Dentelliere" about a mismatched couple, and at one point the main male character fantasises about his funeral speech and the wonderful things people would say about him. I remember giving a little gasp as I read that, surprised that other people also thought like that, or that someone had peeped into my own narcissistic little mind. The thought of looking back and celebrating all the best bits about my life really appealed to my self-aggrandising teenage self.

I once asked my elderly Granddad what he'd like people to say about him at his funeral, and he paused for just a moment and said, "He had a lovely family." Dear man.

I was once bemoaning a transitional stage to my Auntie Gay ("I don't think I'll ever see them again!"), who nodded sympathetically and agreed, "Life is full of sad goodbyes." This stuck with me, and I quote it at the boys, particularly Son 2, who has had an unfortunate knack for making best friends with boys who are about to emigrate.

There are a lot of natural goodbyes in the life of a teacher. Every year we say goodbye to classes and see older students move on to the next thing, and it's all a very healthy cycle, although with some students it's a little more bittersweet than others. 

I worked at my first school for six years (seven if you include mat leave) and then decided to leave for all the right reasons (to spend more time with my baby). Apparently, if you don't return from maternity leave, you sort of sneak out of the back door, no final meal with the English department, no end of term speech. Not one to go quietly, I did send an all-staff email (back in the days when you could do that!) to say thanks and goodbye and share some highlights of my time there, but that was that. I kind of wish I still had the email, but it quickly disappeared with my work account.

My second school, I was at for just over eleven years (nine if you take out mat leaves) and as it didn't end happily, there was no official goodbye, just some hastily-scrawled goodbye cards, and then some concerned calls and messages from people asking, "What on earth is going on?"

When we had to move the boys' schools (for logistical reasons, because of my job move) it all happened very quickly, and they didn't get a goodbye either. "You need to give them a chance for some closure," my wise counsellor friend, Nancy urged. "Take them to the summer fayre or something so they get a chance to tell people goodbye." Good advice which we followed.

So this time, as I leave job number three under entirely happy circumstances, it will be perhaps cathartic to do a goodbye properly at last. I'll've been working there for less than 18 months, a much shorter stint than the other two jobs, but still enough to make an impact on me. I'm looking forward to being able to tell people how I'll be forever grateful for the opportunity, for how well looked-after I've been. With an hour's commute each way, it was clear it wasn't going to be a forever job, but still, it's been special to meet all those people, to see another way of doing education, in a challenging context, and to learn from some really committed and talented staff doing their best for the school community. I'm thankful to have worked with the asylum seeker students, who are just the sweetest and most positive and hardest-working bunch of teenagers; despite living on £9 a week, one girl still somehow got me a thank you gift, which made me cry a little with humility and understanding of how much generosity that represented from her family. One young man arrived in my Year 11 GCSE English class speaking almost zero English, an unaccompanied minor who had been tortured for his religion in his home country, but smiled and smiled and laboriously tried to copy things from the board. I want to tell the staff that they've restored my faith in education, and saved a teacher for the profession, in a world of a teacher recruitment crisis. And how even though I'm moving on, I'll keep thinking of them there, doing really good and important work, and how the school will always have a piece of my heart.

So, there, it looks like my speech is pretty much written already. 

My colleague Alex left last year, and gave a speech where he talked about Jesus and how he came to serve, which is what we are called to do in schools. What a hero - I think he showed me what it meant to leave somewhere well. It would be nice to leave somewhere well. 

And I'm hoping I won't need to think about making another leaving speech for a very long time after this one. 

More on job transitions here: https://sarahhadfi.wixsite.com/website/post/on-statements-and-stabilising and some odes to my lovely first school: https://sarahhadfi.wixsite.com/website/post/on-drama-and-underwear and second: https://sarahhadfi.wixsite.com/website/post/on-danish-whales-and-quantitative-easing