They enter the classroom in August and they're strangers. I struggle for a couple of weeks to learn everyone's name; the energetic talkative ones I get down by the end of the first day. Slowly, I learn their personalities: their passions, their quirks, their fears. By mid-October, I know a group of 80-100 thirteen-year-olds fairly well; by mid-May, I can almost predict their every move.

This is what keeps me hooked on teaching: the relationships. A picture of a group of students is a fairly meaningless thing to anyone but the students' teacher, but to that teacher, it's a thousand stories about 180 days spent working, laughing, and sometimes arguing together.

And this is why I consider it a privilege to teach. Between 160 and 200 parents trust me with their children for almost an entire year. In some ways, I know their children better than they do. This can be problematic -- "Oh no! My child would never do that!" -- but only rarely.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to the kids I spent 180 days with. In a few, short weeks, I'll begin again, with a new group of strangers in my room.

It is a testimony to how well the year went that I am as excited about starting next year as I've ever been. Last year was a tough year, with a tough group of kids. Many teachers on the eighth grade hall said it was the most challenging group they've ever taught. "Baptism by fire," one laughed when I commented it had been my first year teaching there. Last year, the goodbyes were a formality, and I was relieved to have the year behind me; this year, the goodbyes were touchingly sincere, and I was a bit saddened to see the year come to a close.

One young man was terribly upset. I saw him and smiled; he thought I was mocking him. "Mr. S, don't laugh!" he begged. I went quickly to him, trying my best to smile warmly. "I'm not laughing," I reassured him, telling him-probably vainly-that the sadness of this ending will transform itself into joy at a new beginning. I didn't tell him how difficult it was for me to go through endings, how it's still difficult. Perhaps I should have, but I was afraid I would upset him more. On his own, he will learn to recognize the sweet in the seemingly bitter moments.

If I'm fortunate, he'll come back to tell me about it.