The Last Day of School

The last day of school is supposed to be all smiles and hugs. I prepared a feel-good lesson for my very last period with my 6th grade class. I even produced fake business cards complete with clipart for each student predicting their future careers. Julia, International Peacekeeping Soccer Player; Josh, Rap Star Senator; Sarah, Rabbinical Molecular Chemist. These were carefully written based on each student's individual personalities and interests. I wrote blurbs about each them and presented them their cards after telling them how much this year meant to me and how much they've taught me.

On the last day, students thank their teachers profusely and tell them how much their going to miss us over the long, boring, family-vacation-filled summer. They can't wait to come back in September and learn more. I've witnessed this behavior but didn't experience it first hand. The last day of my first year of teaching was disastrous. The words "Screw you, fatty" will prevent this new teacher from enjoying her summer. My last day included sending the one student who needed to be part of the group the most out of class during our "feel good" last day activity.

When I gave my very creative and thoughtful "business cards" out to the students they were met with criticism, dissatisfaction; one student even through hers back at me when I placed it on her desk with a hopeful smile.

The last day of school manages to overpower all the days that preceded it no matter what. Forgotten are our meaningful reflections on the hardships of immigrants in America based on the photographs in Unseen America (just two days ago). Fun at the park with the me, their teacher, actually playing net-less volleyball… the time when I made a sling for one student out from the dusty first-aid kit just to make him feel better about tripping on the heater.

The last two hours of the last day of school were spent furiously signing yearbooks. Teachers partook in this annual ritual. While the other teachers had piles of books waiting for their cherished hand-written notes, I sat quietly, meekly asking students that I felt especially close to if I could sign theirs. The student I sent out of class earlier that day playfully refused, emphasizing his rejection by dramatically handing his over to the science teacher sitting a few desks away. "Come on!" I begged, humiliated, like I was still in middle school myself.