A Promise for the Future and a Blessing for Today

"This is the first time I've ever been to this," I said to an assistant principal as I entered the gym for eighth-grade promotion.

"Right," she nodded, "because you were always in sixth grade."

"A couple of former students asked me to come," I told her, "and since I could? Here I am!"

"You should sit with the teachers," she motioned. "There are open seats right there." 

I took the last seat in the back row. I was at an angle to the stage, but within full view of a jumbo screen. Best of all? I could see all the kids sitting in neat rows, waiting to be promoted. When it came time for them to file up to get their certificates, every student walked by, less than ten feet from me.  My heart swelled with pride and hope as I remembered the children they had been when I met them nearly three years ago and marveled at how much they had grown.

And I was so glad I had come.

A Regular Dale Carnegie

I spent my day volunteering at the end-of-the-year field day for my former sixth-grade team. Because of my stint as a science sub, I knew most of the kids, and as it turned out, the few I didn't weren't hard to remember. One such student was a guy named Nicholas, whom I first encountered sitting alone at a picnic table. "Are you in trouble?" I asked. "Is that why you're here?"

He shrugged, and I introduced myself. "I used to be a teacher here," I told him. "Who did you have for English this year?" I nodded when he told me. "So, what was your favorite class?"

"PE," he answered predictably.

"Great class!" I agreed. "What about your favorite core class?" 

"English," he said.

"My old subject!" I said. "We have that in common!"

From there, we chatted about elementary schools he had attended (3 in 4 years), when his family came to the US from Bolivia (just 5 years before), what he missed most about his home (family, of course), and his favorite Bolivian restaurant in town. "Have the carne asada!" he advised. By the time the teacher let him off the hook for goofing off, we were fast friends. 

And it paid off, too, because I crossed paths with him several times over the course of the day, and even if he wasn't on his best behavior at that moment, he was soon after.

Root, Root, Root

A cold and rainy Sunday might not be anyone's preference. But to be honest, we've been so busy lately that, with plans to go to the baseball game today, it has been a blessing not to have to worry about the garden. Sure, there will be weeds when I finally make it up there, but that's an easy fix, and hopefully all my plants are thriving in the cool, damp weather.

Plus? It wasn't too hot at the game, and we had a fun time in our free Hawaiian shirts, even if the home team lost.
 

Luminous

We were relaxing in rocking chairs on our friends' front porch in Virginia Beach last Saturday when I noticed an insect making its way across the railing. "Is that a firefly?" I asked Heidi.

"It just looks like a bug to me," she shuddered.

I laughed and went to investigate. Sure enough, it was indeed a little lampyridae. "Did you call them fireflies or lightning bugs?" I said to Heidi.

"I just called them 'bugs' and left them alone," she answered.

Later, at dinner, I reported my discovery to our hosts, Traci and Rob. "I love fireflies," Traci said. "We didn't have them in Florida."

"They're lightning bugs," her husband corrected her, and he smiled at me, because he's from Upstate New York near where my dad grew up.

"We called them both," I said, "but they were definitely lightning bugs to my dad."

We looked out the window at the dusky summer evening. "I think I just saw one!" Rob said, and we grabbed Liv, their three-year-old daughter, and a jar and headed out to the front yard. 

It took a minute, but we saw a couple blinking near the garden and jogged over. Once my eyes had adjusted, I was able to chase one down, capture it with loose hands, and carry it over to the jar. Liv was enchanted, and we showed her how to gently tip the jar so that the little beetle wouldn't keep dashing himself against the lid. 

I turned back to the lawn in search of others, but there was barely a twinkle. "I read somewhere that the population is in serious decline," I told the group. "It's loss of habitat and light pollution, mainly."

We waited for a while, but we were bound by the attention span of a toddler, and so we released our prisoner, and everyone else went back inside. 

As I sat on the front stoop, I remembered countless summer evenings spent with my brother and sister chasing lightning bugs. We had a coffee can or a peanut butter jar with holes punched in the top, filled it with what seemed to be dozens of them as we ran around the backyard in our pajamas. The rule was that we had to let them all go at the end of the night, so we would open the container, set it down, and bang inside through the screen door to go to bed. 

It was always waiting, empty the next morning, ready to be filled again.

Last Friday

I spent the day today in middle school, subbing for a friend. Mind you, subbing on the last Friday of the school year is not for the faint of heart (Lordy-- teaching on the last Friday of the year is not for the faint of heart!), but my friend was of the same philosophy that I was, which is to keep 'em learning up to the end. That meant that there was work to do and understanding to demonstrate, organized into the familiar structure and procedures of the class. 

The only outlier in that model was me.

Some of the kids knew me from my long-term sub job in science, but some didn't. For the most part, it wasn't too hard to keep the classes orderly and productive; I came prepared with both strategies to give breaks and activities that rewarded assignment completion. Even so, (and hardly surprisingly) some of the students challenged me. 

When, after a series of obnoxious comments, one kid stole a piece of candy from another, claiming that "he didn't know it was hers," I gave him a choice of a call to the assistant principal or lunch detention. He opted for the second option and then returned to work. When he didn't give me any trouble for the rest of the class, I pulled him aside and told him he had earned his lunch back.

"Awww," he smirked, "I really wanted to come and finish my assignment."

"That's awesome," I congratulated him with a laugh, "but I don't want to spend any more time with you today!"

Thanks, Sue!

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been 86 if we had not lost her back in 2019. I thought of her all day, and this evening, I got a message from one of her friends:

Hi Tracey, this is Sue. We had book club today, and today's your mom's birthday. We each took a turn talking about all the things we had done with your mom and how much we loved her and things like that. So I wanted to let you know we all had really good memories of her. And then we took a picture of the group, and all these people were in the book club when your mom was a member, so I'll send you the photo. Say hi to the rest of the gang, and I hope to see you someday soon.

It meant a lot to me to know that my mom's friends still remember her so fondly, and that Sue was kind enough to let me know, so I sent my appreciation right away.

Good Eats

A few years ago, a colleague and I bonded over our shared love of cooking. He's mostly a grill man, and he knows I'll appreciate his tales of brining, rubbing, searing, smoking, and saucing. It tickles him when he brings me a taste of something, and I can identify most of the ingredients. He also enjoys baking, and he and his wife regularly try out new cookie recipes.

It only made sense to us to organize a couple of staff events at school based on our mutual interest, and so we do a holiday cookie exchange and an end-of-the-year potluck barbecue for anyone interested. For the barbecue, he always does the main, and over the years we've been lucky enough to sample ribs, smoked brisket, pulled pork, and pulled chicken. I always make Heidi's mom's potato salad, a classic mayo, mustard, and relish-dressed dish with celery and boiled eggs. I also bring lemon squares, which are a favorite of that crowd.

Even though I retired, our tradition lives on, and tomorrow is the big day. He's bringing chicken and jambalaya this year, and in addition to potato salad and lemon squares, we also have brownies, corn salad, pasta salad, beer bread, baked beans, fruit, chips, watermelon, and chocolate chip cookies on the menu.

You can bet I intend to savor every bite!