everything was beautiful.

Today was a hard day. The more I learn about my students' home lives (or lack thereof), the more I feel this deep sense of.. something. Helplessness? Sadness? Anger? Shock?

I don't know what to do with the feeling, other than keep going and hope that at the very least, I can be someone my kids see during the day who is good to them. It's all I can do, try to do right by them in the 55 minute blocks in which I'm a part of their lives, when what I really want to do is cocoon them so that no one can ever hurt them again.

Last Friday, one of my favorite kids slipped a note onto my desk as he left at the end of the period. He'd scrawled a smiling face onto a notecard, plastered the margins with exclamation points and written, "R, have a good weekend!!!" I put it up on my wall when I got home. Something has been bothering him recently, but he hasn't wanted to talk about it. He's very sweet, this kid. He's softspoken, quick to laugh, and very hardworking. Still, recently the sadness in his eyes has spread to his face. Today, I found out just a little bit about his life outside school. I don't understand how someone who's lived such a hard life can still be as jovial, or as ambitious, or as genuinely kind as he is. I don't know that I'm that strong even now, and I know I definitely wasn't as a kid.

A few days ago I had a conversation with a colleague about teaching at a transfer school. I'm never really sure which experiences are universal for teaching high schoolers or teaching city kids, and which ones are unique to teaching our population. While trying to explain this, I told my colleague that I have no idea if it's normal to feel so drained after every day. No, he replied. He explained that teaching is always hard, no matter where or who you teach. "But this job?," he explained, "this job wears on you."

It's definitely wearing on me.