Today, amidst the familiar clatter of silverware and the hum of teenage chatter in our dining hall, a man walked up to me.
“Ms. Marcenaro!”
I paused, scanning the face smiling at me. I knew alumni were visiting campus, and after thirteen years here, I pride myself on recognizing former students. But in this moment, looking at the beard and mature posture of the man before me, I drew an absolute blank. I narrowed my eyes, trying to map those features against the thousands of boys and girls who have passed through these halls.
“I need help,” I admitted.
“Victor!” he replied, his enthusiasm undiminished by my lapse in memory.
“….Which one?” It was a humorous way to show that I was still struggling, a tiny bridge over the awkward gap.
But the moment he shared his last name, the years evaporated. I pictured the bright, inquisitive boy from 2015—the one who was always bubbly and happy to chat with the duty teacher on a quiet Wednesday evening. So clever, dynamic and refreshingly honest.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries. When I asked what he was “up to”, he offered a casual, modern euphemism: he was “between jobs.” I didn’t pry. We parted ways, but his answer lingered, echoing in my mind for the rest of the day.
Why didn’t I press further? Would it really have been “prying”? And what, exactly, was I hoping to uncover about the trajectory of his life?
I think as educators we develop a “script” for these conversations that is safe and that lets us learn some facts about that person’s post-school trajectory. But I’m not satisfied with those facts. When I ask alumni what they are “doing,” I’m happy to learn their job title or company name, but I prefer to learn about the human beyond the résumé.
What I really wanted to ask Victor—what I want to ask all of them—is so much larger than a social media update:
I want to know about the transitions. If you are between jobs, are you also between versions of yourself? What are you shedding, and what are you moving toward?
I want to know about the spark. Have you found something that makes you lose track of time? If you haven’t, are you still brave enough to keep looking for it?
I want to know about the quiet things. Are you happy? Have you fallen in love? Do you feel like you are contributing something meaningful to this chaotic world?
I want to know how they remember their lessons, their weekends, and which late-night conversations still echo in their minds. And yes, if I am being completely honest, there is a selfish sliver of me that wants to know if they remember me. Did those Wednesday evening chats matter? In a profession where we pour our heart into young people who eventually pack their bags and leave, validating our impact is how we teachers measure our own contribution to the world.
Ultimately, boarding school life is a series of intense, temporary adoptions. We want so much for these kids. Not in terms of material wealth or prestige, but the resilience to stand gracefully in the spaces “between jobs.” We want them to remain curious, to view life’s rich diversity as an invitation rather than a threat, and to remember that the adventures we prepared them for are happening right now.
I hope Victor finds his next stepping stone. I’m going to seek him out tomorrow morning and chat a little more.
