I get it.

I know why people teach. My seventh graders, both classes, had big Renaissance projects due today. I knew the one class, 7.1, would not fail to astound me. The majority of the kids in that class speak better English than most American high school students do. Plus, they're incredibly bright, creative kids with endless enthusiasm. The 7.2 class, the class who is new to the school this year and still struggles with English, was likely to be different. The kids are smart, don't get me wrong, but they struggle with putting things in their own words and doing it coherently. Many of them learned in the national schools that copy-paste is acceptable because, hey, you found the information. Finders, keepers!

Anyway, the 7.1 class lived up to my expectations. Surpassed them, even, as that class is bound to do. The 7.2s came in just 45 minutes ago and handed in their projects. As I looked through them, I suddenly found myself trying not to get teary-eyed. The English in the majority of the projects was choppy but largely understandable. There were coherent sentences, even creative ones. Better yet, the writing was their own. I was so incredibly proud of them. So proud. I'm getting goosebumps as I write. They have worked so hard and have come so far since the beginning of the year. I told them the kids who wrote these projects are not the same kids who wrote the ones they turned in second quarter. Not even close. They worked hard and they've succeeded. I'm not their English teacher, I just teach them history. I credit the success to Angela, their wonderfully patient English teacher, and to them, for their work ethic. But it's nice to witness. It's incredibly nice to witness.

That, I think, is why people teach. There are days where school would be great if it weren't for the students. Then there are days like today, when you remember why you care.