Everything Must Go

I spent the day in my classroom unloading drawers and cabinets full of memories. Along with my digital files (which I'm working on copying since I will lose access to them at midnight on my birthday), these things—these files and papers and artifacts, teaching tools, professional books, and school supplies—represent my life's work. Even so, it was surprisingly easy to appreciate them one more time and then let them go.

"You know it's not too late to change your mind," the assistant principal said as he surveyed the jumble of piles and the half-full dumpster parked outside the door. For a moment, I considered the offer and imagined teaching my class in a much emptier room.

"Thanks," I said. "It is tempting, but I think it's time."

Or at least it will be on Thursday when I finish this gargantuan task!

Full Circle

When I first started teaching, pre-service week was right before Labor Day. I worked furiously to prepare my room and lessons for the new students coming the next Tuesday. I remember thinking that a three-day weekend was wasted on me then because all I wanted was to get the first day over with.

This year, although school for students and teachers ended Friday, today is a holiday for 12-month employees. It is Eid al-Adha, and schools are closed. I have completed my teaching duties, but I still have to clean out my classroom and submit some end-of-the-year paperwork. I'm feeling impatient to finish up, and this three-day weekend has been wasted on me.

Noted

It occurred to me that this lovely, dry weather that I have been enjoying even as I've had one of the most eventful and emotional weeks of my life is not at all good for a garden. It also occurred to me that I have a garden, and it probably needed some attention.

I was right. Two weeks away at the beginning of June is not an optimal plan.

Pretty sure next year will be different.

New Wisdom Already

To celebrate my retirement, some neighbors took us bowling this afternoon. It was a fun way to kick off both the summer and the less structured days ahead for me. We had five adults and a two-year-old in our party, so we got adjoining lanes, one with a bumper and one without, and we took turns throwing balls and chasing the kid around. 

After one round we took a break, snacked on some fried bowling alley cuisine, and chatted for a bit before returning to the alleys for a second go. This time we logged the adults in one lane and the toddler in the other. In between turns, her parents helped her use the kiddie caddy and roll her ball down its ramp. As she was bowling, I noticed they still had the lane set for three, so I stepped to the screen and deleted the extra games. 

"Good thinking!" her mom said. "That will save us a few bucks."

"Well," I answered, "I am retired now. I know every penny counts!"

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!"