My Last Last Day

Maybe another week or two before summer arrives for you?

I remember being even more intentional about lesson planning in the last month of school—aka when state testing is over: we will continue to do joyful and rigorous math until the last day of school. “But Ms. Win, it’s the last day of school!” I’m genuinely puzzled by her claim. And that’s when one of my favorite students steps in: “So? We get to do math! Every problem that Ms. Win gives us is a gift, so why would she stop giving on the last day of school?”

I made that up, but that’s also how I have favorites.

The last month might as well be two months because every day seems twice as long. There are more assemblies. There is continuation practice for the 8th graders. Every year I had a part in this—giving out the subject matter awards, plus the year-long honor roll recipients.

Then I screwed up badly. I missed one of the kids’ names because her medal was somehow buried deep inside a cubby hole in the podium stand. Her mother was quietly livid at me. God bless her. But why didn’t she just yell at me right then and there that something was wrong? Being mad at me after the event seemed... unproductive. I sent the student two books to read over the summer. I still feel badly about this.

More field trips. Our school is an hour away from Six Flags. God, I hated having to help chaperone this hideous event. Kids having fun, eating expensive garbage food. Screaming and running, wearing dumb things newly purchased from the gift shop. My colleague and I would walk around the park a hundred times, with two scheduled meeting spots for the kids to check in. I secretly wished a kid would go missing—with a happy ending, of course—because at least then I’d have had a mission. I could run around frantically and feel useful for once.

There are more than one “last” days of school. Last day to turn in late work. Last day to pay your overdue lunch bill and overdue library books. Last day to submit applications to the high school—and why is this my job to keep track of this nonsense? Last day to order your cap and gown. Yes, our 8th graders wore cap and gown. They did look very nice in them. And unfortunately for some, that was the last time they’d experience this sort of ceremony.

Then the strangest thing happened on the very last day: the 8th graders gathered in the courtyard for a giant hug-and-cry fest, knowing damn well they were going to see each other at the mall that same afternoon or at Bruce’s house. I tried not to make eye contact with any of them, for fear they might hand me their yearbooks to sign. I closed my classroom door and turned off the lights. I can only say goodbye to the same kid so many times.

Because the math coaching position at another district would be offered to me later that August, I didn’t realize this would be my last last day. No more classroom of my own. No more my own kids. That’s a good thing, really—I think my heart would ache in a whole new way.