end of school year
Today, our Boy finished elementary school. "I mean, I have to go three more days after that," he explained to me the other day, "but once I get that piece of paper, I'm basically done."
Our daughter has two more years of high school; our son starts middle school next year...
English I students had the final day of Lord of the Flies presentations today. The final group looked at mob psychology and how it played a part in the novel:
A mob mentality is regularly made when people are part of a group, and seem to lose their self-awareness, or experience deindividuation. This means they are less likely to follow normal restraints and inhibitions, or lose their individual identity. Groups can get carried away, which could lead to behaviors that a person might not indulge in, by themselves. This can also mean that certain groups could make behaviors that were not acceptable, and turn them to a normal activity. In a sense, it is related to peer pressure, but is only effected in a situation involving a large group, or mob, that is making the influence. This is also referred to as “Herd” or “Hive” behavior. (From student presentation)
Lord of the Flies certainly made this obvious.
Today was the final day of school for me. The kids didn't have school, but teachers have to go in for at least one more day to get things squared away for the summer: materials returned, documents completed, papers signed, report cards mailed. During my first year at Hughes, I was overwhelmed with the amount of stuff we had to do. Since then, teachers' "To Do" list has been drastically simplified. One whole task, which often took hours, has been assigned to others. I use the passive voice there because, quite honestly, I don't know who made that change, but I am grateful nonetheless.
Getting this last day out of the way is such a relief because I reach a point where I can finally stop thinking about school for a while -- I'm not even planning on doing any prep work this summer. For one thing, I have too much to do this summer:
Then there's all the travel:
Still, this is a fairly short list for the summer, but this is all in the next three weeks, for in just 23 days, we'll be heading to Poland as a family of four for the first time since 2017. Five years. Five years. It's the longest period of time I've not visited Poland since I first went in 1996. K and E went last summer; L went on her own in the summer of 2019. (Or was it 2018?) But it's been five long years since we all went.
That means L was E's age the last time we were there. And L has gone from being a pre-teen to an almost-licensed (driver-permitted?) employed teen with all that entails.
The Boy has one from a little five-year-old thrilled with everything new to an increasingly cynical (but still fascinated by many things) ten-year-old.
We'll probably take the same walk we always do on the day we arrive, and we'll definitely enjoy Babcia's rosół the day we arrive, but everything will be just a little different. And that's probably good.
Another day of nothing, it would seem. Why the district makes us go these last days, we'll never know. Well, we know -- it's the law. But it's always a little strange. Still, the kids enjoy just getting to hang out with each other.
They play games.
They sign shirts.
And they just hang out together.
Class numbers are low; the kids who are there are always the calm, sweet ones. Why not just let them be and revel in their youth?
The kids have only three more days of school: today was one of the two last full days because the final days are half days. Feed them lunch and get them out -- that's all that has to occur for the day to count, lunch. Everyone got their yearbooks today, so they spent most of the day signing each other's yearbooks.
Naturally, several students asked me to sign their yearbooks. In the past, I made it easy on myself and kept with my dad-joke persona: I'd ask, "What do you want me to write?" and write whatever they said.
"I don't know. Something nice." Into the yearbook goes I don't know. Something nice.
This year, I decided not to do that. It's easy, and it's fun to see the kids' reactions, but this time, I thought about what I wanted to say to each kid who asked.
It was hard for some of them
Some of the things I wanted to say might not be the greatest thing to write in a yearbook. Not that they were negative, but so many kids sell themselves so short, so many kids who never really worked to their full potential because they didn't even see their full potential. I sat and pondered for a bit, coming up with something positive and encouraging for everyone, but it wasn't always easy or automatic.
Except for some kids.
We're not supposed to have favorites, I know, and I really don't feel like I do, but there are some kids that are just easier to work with, are just simpler to help reach their potential, are just more relaxed. More blessed some might say.
It's the end of the school year, and that can only mean one thing for my English I students: letters to next year's students.
"Make a little nervous," say to them with a smile. "Impress them with your writing, and don't lie -- but scare them just a bit, too."
Here are some of my favorite quotes from this year's letters:
Nearing the end of the year, and my honors students are still working hard. There are only eight days of school left, and they have two more writing assignments. One of them is a major assignment: the showcase letter to next year’s students.
“Don’t lie,” I tell them, “but scare them a little bit. And impress them.”
They’re also working on the end of Lord of the Flies. They have one short writing assignment for that: the last analytic writing assignment they’ll have for me.
They don’t know it yet, but it will be the only completion grade I give them for the whole year.
Today was the last day of the 2020/2021 school year: we had a faculty breakfast, acknowledged and expressed our appreciation for the faculty members who will not be returning to the school next year, and packed away the last of our materials, closing up our room for the summer.
Endings used to bother me as a kid because I never could be sure that what came after would be as good as what I'd just experienced. That's no longer the case because I realized as I grew older that, as long as no disaster strikes, there's no better or worse -- just different.