It’s been a great four years

A milestone graduation that takes a while to sink in

It wasn’t the first day of school this year when they walked into the newsroom, some of them 3rd hour, some of them 7th hour (some of them multiple times during the day) and declared, “This is my last first day of high school.” That elicited a chuckle, sure, and it signaled things to come.

It wasn’t second semester even when I sometimes noticed scholarship applications were being worked on instead of yearbook spreads and news stories. It wasn’t when that activity gradually transitioned to prom dresses and getting measured for tuxedos. At least they were also covering promposals.

It wasn’t even the day the grad caps and gowns came in and we decided to get a photo of them trying them on to use on a page in the yearbook. Well, OK, the feeling started creeping in then, just a little. These guys are about to graduate.

But really, even this last week, in all its busyness and semi-chaos, it didn’t hit me. Finding out graduation was to be indoors instead of at the stadium because of a soggy football field and impending storms (which never impended) was disappointing, but it still didn’t feel like the end of the year. The on again and off again of “field day” plans, the sadness, in a broken-hearted, last-straw kind of way that they couldn’t wear pins in memory of lost classmates because it would take away from the National Honor Society honor cords – those things still didn’t give me that feeling of finality, that this year was over and this group of kids was moving on.

After all, this is my ninth rodeo. But – and this is a rather big BUT – I’ve had most of these seniors in class for four years. Most of them were enrolled, victims of, my first introduction to journalism class. My prototypes.

When the instructions for indoor graduation were emailed out, I scanned the list. In the previous five or so years, this would be the third time to have it indoors, and I’d had the same post for the last two, guarding a door on the north end of the auditorium so guests didn’t go in or out that way. Easy job, good view, cooler than sitting closely together in the seats. But I wasn’t on the list. With limited seating, you can’t go unless a senior gives you one of his or her coveted five tickets or you have a job. I needed that job.

I emailed the senior sponsor in charge and explained my plight. You see, I AM a senior parent. I have 12 seniors graduating and lots of others I’ve grown very close to. It was a mixup, and another teacher had been put on the list twice. I got my spot back.

But you know, I still didn’t tear up at my kids walking in to Pom and Circumstance, nor when they walked across the stage to receive their empty folder and shake the principal’s hand. It was tough to get through the playing of the commissioned piece in honor of the four students who should have been graduating with them that night, but that’s four other stories, one of which I’ve written about previously.

Even when they tossed their hats in the air, I was only happy for them. Even when searching for them outside, and finding only five of 12 to hug, no tears, no choking up.

No, that started happening this morning, two days later. Grades are in, the yearbook still has to be finished so I’ll still be meeting up with my yearbook seniors, but here on Saturday morning with my coffee, as I scroll lazily through Facebook and see the pictures from Thursday night, I read through the comments. It’s the moms and the way they share each other’s pride in their children’s accomplishments. That’s what sends me over.

I don’t think I have to say anything else.

Alphabetically so you don’t argue about whom I love best, I will miss you tremendously: Tate, Taylor, Tyson, Alexandra, Natascha, Lizzie, Megan, Tommy, Hayden, Haley, Bridget and Hailey. As Tate said, it’s been a great four years.

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About teachjournalism
I am a high school teacher of journalism, technology and reading. I advise the school's newspaper and yearbook, both student-led publications. Documenting and sharing my experiences is a way of reflecting to improve my own work and and inviting commentary so that we might all benefit. I believe, as I tell my students each year, that we all learn from each other.

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