He reclines on the floor with his head propped against the leg of someone who loves him.
My guide dog Elias is content, but my leg is not his favorite leaning post anymore. Elias is retired. His last day in harness was a couple weeks ago. He lives with my parents now. I await training for my fourth guide dog on July 5, but even though our work together has concluded, my heart beats for Elias still.
I am reflective this June afternoon, usually a time of reading professional articles and planning new lessons for August. That is not happening either. Just like the partnership with Elias, the normal summer routine of an English teacher is not my reality this year.
The entire upcoming school year will be my "year of service" as Indiana Teacher of the Year. This means traveling the state and beyond to inspire and be inspired by educators and students, representing this noble profession and doing my best to improve its profile. This also means no students of my own, no classroom of my own, no school of my own. Coupling that with Elias's retirement, I am bereft. Yet, I will always be Elias's mama, and I will always be a teacher.
In 2007, I trained with Elias under experts at Guiding Eyes for the Blind. They knew the best techniques to make our pairing a success. They inspired confidence in me because of their knowledge, patience, and compassion. Elias and I flourished. This past April, seven-and-a-half years of teamwork culminated in Elias receiving a pat on the head from President Obama and a drink from Bo's water dish. All credit to the brilliant Guiding Eyes trainers.
I hope for that same kind of impact as a teacher: Sometimes, I achieve it. Do I inspire confidence in my students so that they can tackle what was otherwise overwhelming? Often...not always. Do I act with patience and compassion to guide them forward? Often...not always. They are as forgiving as Elias has been, though, laughing over typos or giggling when I inadvertently say a really, really wrong word in the middle of a dramatic oration!
Just as when I corrected Elias when he stopped in the hallway for what I thought was a sniffing fest -- only to discover he halted so I would not bump into a flat loaded with cast-off history books -- my students are gracious about my foibles and always ready to offer a clean slate.
I won't have either this year...Elias or my own students. My heart quakes, but a little corner of my mind is whispering. Why is all of this happening now? What am I supposed to learn or teach? Somehow I know that these new beginnings will have lessons, parallel and profound, that will change me.
So I click "save" on this entry, get ready to head over to my parents' house for dinner where I can pet my reclining buddy, and mark one more day off the calendar as I approach this new beginning.