Hector in 8th grade, sketching for my class during a field trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. |
When you haven't seen a student in 6 years, how are you supposed to feel? I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a mess. Kids are NOT supposed to die at just 21 years old. I found out about his death on Facebook one morning just before I left for work. It was tough keeping myself together through the school day, but I (mostly) managed. I taught Hector several times a week through his middle school years, starting on the first day of my first official job teaching art at Girard College. Since the middle and high school classes there are held in the same building, I was in the unique position of being able to see my students grow and mature long after they had left my classroom. Hector's easy smile and his kindness towards others made him the kind of kid that you can't help but like. I remember how shocked I was the first time I saw his game face at a
Founders Hall at Girard College picture from www.girardcollege.com |
As I struggled to find an open seat in the jam-packed funeral home, I was surprised at how naturally the name of the first student I saw came to me. Part way through the service the woman next to me had run out of tissues. I found an embarrassingly art teacher-y, crayon box printed pack in my purse, and as I passed one to her I realized that the woman was a former student all grown up. As I glanced down the row and on to the next I recognized every last face. Somehow, without realizing it, I had found my seat smack dab in the middle of the Girard College class of 2011.
I had been experiencing the grief of loss, but now a new emotion arose: guilt. Who was I to be participating in this very personal ritual? They had all grown up together with Hector, I'm just some former teacher from years ago. What is my loss in comparison to theirs? After thinking for a few moments my guilt started to subside. Hector had obviously touched many hearts and lives in different ways. The question that I should have been asking is this: Who am I not to grieve the premature loss of this young man? I looked around again and realized that my 'kids' are no longer children. They are now adult peers, and by gathering in that place we were sharing in the loss together. Even though we were grieving in different ways and for different reasons, we were all there because we cared.
above: A student-designed clay mask. This assignment was used by a former student as inspiration for some of her college artwork! |
What gives me solace is the possibility that I may have made a positive difference in Hector's life too. Having a student pass on is a terrible feeling, even if you haven't seen them in years. I'm working through it in the most honest way that I can, feeling my emotions as I have them, allowing myself to experience the grief, getting through it instead of getting over it. I'm trying to focus on making my current students' experiences as supportive, diverse, and inspiring as possible. I never want to have regrets about not harboring a student's creative potential. To me, this honors Hector's memory better than any other gesture I could make.
This article is dedicated to
Hector Colon Jr., 1993-2015.
Hector Colon Jr., 1993-2015.
A heartfelt commentary on a student's death. Excellent post. EST
ReplyDeleteHi, artteacher
ReplyDeleteI hope that you are well
I just complete study of this post and want to say that great info.
I am also student and I can understand
Thanks for sharing
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