No Regrets

"I really only have one regret," I told a small group of colleagues half-jokingly at our end-of-the-year staff party yesterday afternoon. "It's that I was never on the morning announcements." 

For years I have told students that The Announcements is my favorite show-- it has everything: news, inspiration, bloopers, and kids I know; it's the best 10 minutes on television. Once and a while, a teacher would do a guest appearance as a broadcaster, and on those occasions, I would cross my fingers and hope that someone would ask me to be next. "Have you ever been on?" my students would ask then, and I had to sadly shake my head.

But yesterday when I expressed the same regret, another teacher whipped out her phone. "It's not too late!" she said as she texted, and a moment later she reported, "You're on for tomorrow!"

I literally leapt for joy at this unexpected turn. Then a little while later, in another conversation, I was reminded of one other thing. "I also always wanted to be the Yellow Jacket mascot," I admitted to the assistant principal.

"We can arrange that!" she said. "What if you go down to sixth-grade lunch tomorrow in it?"

I was thrilled! My last day of teaching was shaping up to be an amazing one, filled with dreams come true.

And it was! Being on the announcements was really fun; the kids on the crew were happy to have me, and I did a respectable job. Plus all my former students saw I had finally gotten a spot on my favorite show, and they congratulated me all day. 

Before I suited up as mascot, I read up on the job, and I was well prepared to dance and wave and give high fives and hugs. It was also an amazing experience. At the end of the day, I stood at my desk as a few colleagues came in to say good-bye.

"How are you doing?" asked one.

"Pretty good," I answered. "I can honestly say I've done everything I ever wanted to do at this school."

"Well, that's the way to leave," he said. "You've done it right."

An Honor

I had forgotten about the "quick staff meeting" after school when my friend Mary asked me if I was going. "It's about you," she said.

Although I had really been too busy to even consider it, it made sense. Our school has a tradition of presenting retiring staff with a silver silver Jefferson cup engraved with our dates of service. 

"What about Ann?" I asked, mentioning another retiree.

"She's settling on her house," Mary answered.

"Maureen?"

"She left two days ago."

And so it seemed like I really would be the focus. Fortunately, there were only a few minutes left until the final bell and then the meeting, so I practiced a little deep breathing and returned to my room for the end-of-the-day circus.

When a little while later I made my way into the theater, I was surprised by the number of colleagues who had actually stayed late on the second to last day of school. As I took my seat, I tried to relax. In the first 30 years of my career, I can honestly say I never cried once, but the last couple weeks of year 31 have been very emotional.

The meeting began with our principal saying a few words about the tradition and then looking around the auditorium for the other retiring people. As she said his name, a French teacher entered late, and they had a brief exchange about his six years at our school. Then she read the dates on the other two cups, from 2006 and 2007 to now, and those of us assembled applauded in appreciation.

There was only one box left on the stage and my ears roared a bit as she began to speak, the breathing thing wasn't really working either, and I felt my eyes begin to fill. There was a gasp when she read the dates and noted that my entire career had been spent at our school. Then, when she started up the aisle toward me, I knew I had missed my cue. I stood quickly and met her by the stage, thanking her as she handed me my cup and gave me a hug. 

When I turned to go back to my seat, all my colleagues were on their feet in a standing ovation. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I bowed my head in thanks. Once they were seated, I raised my voice to speak. "This has been one of the hardest decisions of my life," I said. "It's my fault we're having a staff meeting on the second to last day of school because I didn't even tell Ms. B. I was retiring until last week!" I paused.

"It has been a joy and a privilege to have worked here the last 31 years. Thank you all." 

And when I sat down, I was not the only one crying.

Hard Deadlines

Our squirreliest, most unfocused section of English missed their class last Friday because of the water main break, so today was the first time we saw them since last Wednesday. Grades were also due today, and all of them still needed to finish or submit their final summative writing piece, so we gave them a pep talk, clapped our hands, and encouraged them to get to work. Then we three teachers circulated through the room helping and cheering them on. And we were stunned when, as a group, they were more productive on the third to last day of school than they had been all month.

"We should have been telling them it was crunch time every day!" one of my co-teachers laughed, "but I guess they would have figured it out, eventually."

I thought of that conversation a little while later when a group of colleagues was lavishly praising and cajoling me to change my mind about retiring. I thanked them kindly but refused. "I should have been saying I was retiring every year," I laughed, "but I guess you would have gotten on to me, eventually!"

On the Right Foot

I'm not sure what I expected when I planned to tell students today about my retirement, and I wasn't quite sure exactly how to approach the topic at all, even up until the first bell rang and kids came into my room.

"Today's my last day!" announced one of the seventh-grade boys who has made my room a home base this year. He and his buddies stop by almost every morning before homeroom to chat, mess around with the fidgets, and catch up with me and each other before heading off for their day. The same group returns for a few minutes at the end of the day, too, before catching a bus, going to sports practice, or attending another activity. There's usually a quick game of something and a Jolly Rancher in it for them, and it's become a fun tradition this year.

Sixth graders are enchanted by the whole situation, and some of them have started joining us, too, creating a mini-carnival atmosphere in my classroom at the start and end of each day. They love it, and to be honest, having the kids' affection only makes class management easier. Happy kids make happy teachers.

So this morning, when the first student in the room said it was his last day, I paused, preparing what to say. He plunged ahead with the conversation before me, though. "Yep!" he said, "you won't see me for eight weeks!"

"Well, actually," I replied, clearing my throat, "I won't see you then, either. I'm retiring."

He never missed a beat. "I'm happy for you!" he said. "You deserve it after all the years you've been here!"

His reaction was definitely not what I expected, but like every morning, it set the tone for the day, which turned out to be pretty good.

We're Moving On

Our school gave all the sixth graders and staff t-shirts for our end-of-the-year celebration. They are a nice, buttery yellow, emblazoned with the IB MYP Logo on the front and "6th Grade Best of the Best" on the back. Even so, there was a level of unappreciation among the students along the lines of probably never wear this again-- we're only going to be in sixth grade for a few more days.

I get it. There is no stopping time, although sometimes it feels that there might be. When colleagues compliment me on my understanding of the sixth-grade mind and personality, I shrug. "Well, I have been in sixth grade for over thirty years," I might demure. It took me a while to realize that my perception of the passage of time is skewed by the fact that the kids never really get older; we just switch them out for another group of 11- and 12-year-olds, and so sometimes it feels like we don't get any older either.

Essentially, I've had 31 do-overs of sixth grade, starting with my first time through when I was that age. I've had 31 tries to figure out what makes kids that age laugh, what makes them happy, what is hard, and how to help. I'd be a pretty poor student myself if I wasn't good at what I do.

But today, like the kids, I looked skeptically at my own t-shirt, because I'm only going to be in sixth grade a few more days, too.

True, That

We were on our way out to run an errand this afternoon when we bumped into a neighbor. "This is the last Sunday afternoon errand of the school year," she reminded us. "After next week you can do your errands any day you want, all summer long."

We laughed in agreement, but then she cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. "Or any day you want, forever, Retiree," she said to me.

Fidget Emergency

Heidi and I were talking about my impressive collection of fidgets and what might happen to them upon my retirement. "I'll definitely take them," she said.

"I know I use them more as toys than fidgets," I told her, thinking of the yo-yos, speed cubes, flip sticks, pop tubes, whizzzzers, and assorted balls both squishy and bouncy that reside on the corner of my desk, "and the kids are really just allowed to use them during breaks."

"That's true," she agreed.

"But they do love them," I added. "And sometimes they try to sneak them to their seats at work time. And sometimes they literally beg me to use them while they are working." I laughed. "Can I pleeeeeeaaaaaaase just have this Rubik's cube with me while I write?" I imitated a desperate sixth grader.

"What do you do?" she asked.

"It's a lot like the bathroom situation," I shrugged. "I can tell by their faces if it would actually help and if it will,  then I let 'em."