My feet rooted into the floor, midichlorians spilling out from beneath my toenails and into the carpet. I will never forget hearing the news and melting into the earth with every ounce of matter that makes me organic. Even though a few years had passed, I had not forgotten (nor will I ever) the work we shared, the conversations about the universe and life we had. We went our separate ways, fate leading us where we needed to be. And I’d since obtained a general-ed classroom job, teaching English in a middle school. Since my working with him, Eric had transferred to a private school up north, near Boston, that specialized in caring for people with Autism. “Thanks for letting me know,” I texted back. I felt Vader’s grip at the back of my esophagus, pulling the life out of me while I tried to form a reply. She gave me the wake and funeral information, knowing how close Eric and I had bonded those few years ago. One of my favorites.ĭarkness swirled my lungs like miniature dwarf stars near the far side of the galaxy somewhere the Millennium Falcon couldn’t even find. It said “remember Eric? im sorry to give the bad news… but he passed away this wknd.” I got the text from an old colleague on a Tuesday evening while grading some papers. Luke-Skywalker-green was the color he chose and he wanted to become the galaxy’s first Jedi with Autism. He even had his own Jedi master name, Drake Tagratt, who would spend recess time devising and mastering his own lightsaber pose.
He could’ve been on a Comic Con panel in San Diego or New York if he had someone there to help him with his social anxiety. He knew more about it than anyone I’d ever conversed with. But he loved Star Wars as if it were a sport. I mean he could barely catch a beach ball. “Yep!” And he’d storm off to the other side of the room, waving a pretend saber around.Įric was an eccentric kid who was completely uncoordinated. I’d turn around and he’d be next to me again. (She predicted Hurricane Sandy later that year!) In my HQ classroom, I was fortunate enough to work with one, a then-14-year-old Eric Thomas, who was die-hard about Star Wars. I helped out in a classroom once with a girl who knew all about storm systems and weather. Another one could finish a puzzle ( any puzzle) without looking at the box. One of my students could imitate a piano melody after simply listening to a song. I learned a lot when I had to sub in different classrooms. There were so many bright, young individuals, ranging in ages all the way up to 21. “May the force be with you,” he’d wave, and go back to his desk and his big Star Wars dictionary. While my teaching skills were sharp, my understanding of those specific cognitive functions were fledgling. So not only was it my first real academic job, but it was also my first experience as an adult working with children requiring such specific needs. I was placed in a classroom for 12–15 year olds with Autism and Multiple Disabilities. Then, finally, during my last class of graduate school, I landed a job working as a Teacher’s Assistant at a private school for children requiring special education for students whose needs could not be met in typical public schools. It seemed like I was working towards something that was never going to come. in whatever time was left between so I wouldn’t get rusty. Meanwhile, however, to make good use of time (and to pay the bills), I drove a forklift, stocked shelves, and guarded lives at the beach. Rookies only got interviews if they knew someone. People were afraid to retire or change districts. I got countless interviews, an expansive network, and even some good interpersonal experience.
New Jersey was in its “educational shift” under the exquisite leadership of our large republican governor at the time. He’d laugh and say “Do not underestimate my powers.” Then he’d go back to desk to continue reading.įor three years following my BA graduation in Secondary Education, I could not land a teaching job. “Ummm that’s an easy one, Eric,” I’d smile. Glen, who am I?!” he’d say, striking up a lightsaber pose. One of my former students passed away after being diagnosed with Leukemia. One of the toughest I’d ever experienced happened just last week of my writing this. I’ve been to my share of them funerals, wakes, viewings, as we all have. That is what carves us into the lanterns of learners and teachers that we so desperately need to be. Experiencing it, in itself for all it is worth - that is only human. When someone close to us dies, we grieve. Me? Well, I write about it because that’s all I know how to do. Some handle it well, others writhe in it like womp rats. Grief is a lightsaber to the heart, forcing you to cope and contemplate in the darkness of your small piece of galaxy.