I remember being a young boy and watching my father punch an agitated horse in the jaw. The enormous animal lowered its head and chilled.
I recall a time during my sophomore year when I was certain high school would never end, no matter how many lengthy days were thrown at it.
I developed insomnia trying to make math understandable and avoid failing geometry.
I spent the next decade unable to sleep.
I was called to serve as a missionary in Argentina, a country I’d never even heard of, for two years.
Though I had a strong testimony, I’d be leaving my dear friends and family behind.
Afterward, Life’s proper design granted me the honor of meeting the woman who would become my wife.
I was (and still am) absolutely certain she was so far out of my league that entertaining the thought of being with her felt infantile.
Experience after experience has replayed in my mind as I’ve tried to define just how I felt after leaving my job as a teacher just over a week ago. There is joy, yes, but mostly it is something else entirely.

I feel just...overwhelmed.

When your dad punches a horse and the horse obeys, you believe you’re the literal son of Thor. That is pretty cool.
When high school finally does end, and you manage to pass the classes you were most worried about, you gain perspective. That is very relieving.
When sleep eventually comes again and a night no longer feels interminable, that is comforting.
When leaving those you love to discover a love for others you never knew you had, that is surprising.
When kneeling to pray about proposing to the woman you’ve only just met but for whom you feel immense affection, only to end up in tears of elation as you’re overcome by a feeling of peace no man or force of this earth can instill within the breast of a human being, that is enlightenment.
When you realize that going on 23 years later that gorgeous daughter of God is still by your side, despite the fact that you are a mere mortal, that is humbling.

I know what it feels like to be overwhelmed, but the outpouring of affection I received from my students and fellow staff members on my last day as a teacher floored me. I’ve been treated kindly over my career and have been able to feel close to most of my students. Their parents have largely liked me, and my administrators have often thanked me for my service. A majority of teachers, I imagine, could say the same. Still, it feels very personal when so many show so much appreciation.
My career’s end came as a result of other things in my life rather than a conscious desire to leave the profession. As such, I never had the time to plan around my departure. The students were equally affected. One semester into a new year is a lousy time to lose a teacher, and we’d just gotten to know each other. My former students, all still “my kids” just the same, joined the current in showing me what I’d come to mean to them. It sounds quite self-back-patting to put it in print like this, but all I feel is

Just...overwhelmed.

A dear colleague hosted a surprise gathering in her room and a ton of students (from freshmen to seniors) gathered there to spend a few minutes with me. From giant display board cards to presents to baked goods to money to gift certificates, I was left speechless. For a word guy, that is really something. I maintained my composure during the day, though moist eyes made an appearance or three. Tears did fall once I got into my truck to drive home for the last time, though.
I understand that kids hate school. So did I. Heck, I still do. But those same school-haters are the only reason I endured my years of teaching. I loved them, love them still, and will always feel grateful for the honor of having been blessed to spend a few days with them. They do not know how much I needed them.

I want each and all to know how special you are to me and how significant a part of my life you have become. I never once cared about the curriculum more than I cared about you.
If you remember nothing else about Mr. Russell, remember this: You Matter. You. Not the outer. Not the hair or the weight or the build or the skin tone or the zits or the fashion sense or the anything else that eyes can easily see. YOU. You are of infinite worth. Do not associate with anyone who struggles to see the value you bring to the table. Demand it of them. Love yourself so that you may learn to love others. Learn to see yourself as I see you, and I make you a promise: If you do, you’ll feel

Just...overwhelmed.

What a privilege it has been. Thank you, thank you, thank you.