When last school year was ending, my students and I memorialized our time together with a piece of a broken chair. It was a keepsake. The chair came apart on one of the last days of the school and symbolized our long-awaited return to in-person learning. (Not because it came apart, but because it was a classroom chair, something we couldn’t use during remote learning.) All my students signed it. It’s been hanging in my room ever since.

In the final weeks of this school year, I started thinking about another keepsake. What physical object could symbolize our time together as a class? It had to be representative of the year, and my students had to be able to sign it. It also needed to be something I could take with me no matter where I teach.
With the help of a student, my search didn’t take long. The trademark of this year was the physical transformation of our classroom. To see it take shape piece-by-piece was special. Practically every day something new was introduced to the space, most of which came from the students themselves. Given all the interesting and varied objects that contributed to the room’s evolution, probably the most unique part was the sofa. It was brought in at the start of the spring semester. Not only did it provide comfort, but it gave the room a distinctive look and feel. I mean, how many classrooms have a sofa?
The sofa came with a pair of cylindrical pillows. They were decorative, vinyl, and totally signable. Our keepsake our born.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have a sofa in my room again, but I know I’ll have these pillows. I’ll display them with pride in the years that come. They will be a physical reminder of the students I taught in a classroom that experienced as much growth and transformation as those who inhabited it. The pillows are a relic of a classroom community that represented an important phase of my career. It was a phase that proved to me that the physical surroundings of a classroom deserve as much attention as the mental and emotional dimensions I care so much about.
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