Free at Last. Free at Last. Thank God Almighty, I am Free at Last!

Today is my official last day of school. The kids left yesterday, but we have one more day of professional development to get through today. I can assure you, I would much rather have a full day with the kids than a pointless professional development pow-wow.

But, before I get into a full blown bitching and griping session about today's meeting, let me talk about my last day with the kids.

As per usual, with our graduating 8th graders, the last day was bittersweet. Our school district does not have the traditional "middle school model." Instead, our schools go from k-8 and high school, of course, is grades 9-12.

Back to my point about the bittersweet departure. The last day of school obviously signals the end of homework, early mornings, tests, projects and other such obligations. This traditionall gives rise to a very understandable sense of relief coupled with overwhelming merriment and glee on behalf of hte students.

However, as our 8th graders prepare to leave, the reality of being ripped from their comfy, cozy little k-8 womb hits and the high school angst begins to set in. While their younger peers burst out of the school, a-hootin' and a-hollarin', wasting no time in commencing their summer vacations, the 8th graders linger and hug and cry and pledge to be "best friendz 4-EVA."

My colleagues and I, the 7th and 8th grade team, line the hallway to the exit, hugging all the departing students, issuing parting words and encouragement and wisdom and some well wishes, too.

It can be bittersweet for us, too. We area always sad to see our good kids go and relieved as hell to bid good riddance, at long last, to the pains in the ass.

The last day is always hectic. I'm sure you can imagine. So much movement. So much noise. Signing yearbooks. Emptying out lockers. Cleaning out desks. Just general chaos. You get the picture. Dismissal itself is nuts.





Then, suddenly, the busses pull up. The kids pile on and are carted off. Within seconds of the busses leaving, the crying, shouting, screaming, screeching, pushing, shoving, arguing, whooping, cheering and ruckus are replaced with total silence. The four of us stand there, smiling and waving until the busses turn the corner and then, for a few moments after, we stand there, not talking, just reveling in the newfound peace and quiet. Eventually, we turn and head back into our classrooms, where we are struck by the immense emptiness.

In a way, there is a kind of empty nest syndrome that sets in. This room that has brimmed with young, energetic life for the past 9 months, now stands lifeless and still.

And then, inevitably, my eyes begin to sweep the vast expanse (the room seems so crowded with all the kids, but now seems quite empty), landing on lost and forgotten objects.

Oh, look..over there. Tyler's winter jacket. The same that I've been telling him to bring home ever since it first appeared in my room back in November.

And look...over there...on the floor. There's Kendra's lip gloss. Oh man. Its her favorite one. How will she get through the summer without her frosted cherry cola shine?

Oh, and ahhhh...poor Chelsea. She left her writing notebook. And she worked so hard on it all year! I'll keep it and give it to her next year.

Just as I begin to allow myself to wax nostalgic for the kids who've just left, one of my colleagues pokes his head in the room and reminds me that we are free as birds and that the kids who just finished terrorizing us for the past year are now setting off into the sunset to terrorize ther families, friends or society at large....anybody but us!

And with that, I shake off my insane nostalgia, turn off the lights in my room, and go to my one and only truly official "duty free" lunch of the year. (During the school year we have 30 minute lunch breaks which, in accordance with our union contract, are "duty free." Funny how what's on paper so often contradicts what goes down in reality. I usually spend about 22 of my 30 "duty free" minutes quelling cafeteria riots, calling parents, and dealing with kids who've lost lunch tickets.)

Anyway, then I get to the lunchroom and sit with my colleagues, take a big deep sigh of relief and tuck into my lunch. There are no phone calls from parents. No photocopies to run. No kids to keep from recess. No tests to grade. No last minute lesson planning. Just me, my colleagues and something very rare to your average teacher...adult conversation...and NOT about kids.

Anyway, onto my meeting today. In years past, under the old superintendnet, we used to leave school promptly at 9:30 AM, just after arrival of the payroll checks. However, the new super insists that we stay until 2:45 and that we not be released a minute before.

Oh well. 6 more hours and counting.

Now excuse me while I go and throw away Chelsea's notebook. Who needs that crap cluttering up my room.