Brainjogging enables child to reach point of independent maintenance

Even as Brainjoggers go back to school, I said, “Goodbye (for now),” to my first student, P,. yesterday.  This particular seventh grader worked with me from June 2009 to June 2010.  P. has moved to a place where independently Brainjogging twice daily will maintain his progress.  Yes, I will see P. once a year for his annual reviews; yes, I will probably run into him around town, but he will not come to my office and catch me up on his week.

Goodbyes are always difficult, but knowing that you've enabled a student to leave you better-equipped for life than he was when he came to you makes the departure less heartwrenching.

I am thrilled to see P. flourish – but I am so tremendously sad to know that I will not see him on a weekly basis!  Teachers, particularly learning disability  teachers, want their students to succeed, but we also bond with these children and, because we are human, do not wish to say goodbye.

P’s family had something to deliver to me, so I met him and his father at a local Zaxby’s.  Upon seeing me enter the restaurant, P. rose from his seat, looked me in the eye, told me he would miss me and gave me a hug.  He is 13 years old, and he is the same child that told me I’d “taught [him] good study habits.”  I was moved by that experience, but seeing him standing in a restaurant with his eyes cast upward rather than toward the floor – that was an extremely powerful experience.  I cried the entire way home from Zaxby’s, and not simply because I was sad that I wouldn’t see P. regularly anymore; I was crying because I know that he is going to do well and lead a successful life.  Going back to school will not be daunting this year; he is ready.

Brainjogging allowed me to play a small part in P’s transformation, and I cannot say thank you nearly as many times, or as loudly, as I feel I’d need to say it to get across my thankfulness.  It is such a blessing to have a child come into your life, spend time nurturing him and watching him grow (and at times being mind-numbingly frustrated with him) and then watch him leave again, a changed and matured, capable young man.  I’ve tried to nail this experience down in words, but they are inefficient; the best I can do is wish the power of it on your life, and hope that at some point you, too, might witness such a transformation!

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