Last Day of School Musings + Favorite Reading Activity!

Feeling all of the emotions on the last day of school? You’re not alone. This post includes an essay that tackles the last day of school emotional roller coaster ride and leaves you with my very favorite end-of-year activity: a reading marathon.

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Emerging Victorious

The word bittersweet just doesn’t do it anymore. Bittersweet is your child’s first step, or moving away, or watching the very last episode of Ted Lasso. This just feels a bit more… complex.

On the one hand is a deep-seated relief that the school year has ended.

We are 100% tired of talking, listening, and looking at each other. We’ve given one another everything we have to give and it’s time to move the heck on. But yet, the thought of letting go, of making a transition without each other, of not smiling at the same faces, recognizing the same quirky behaviors, understanding the same inside jokes, building upon the same familiar dynamics is, well, hard.

Like sticky tack to the wall, we are bonded, whether we like it or not.

 A school year, much like life in general, is a series of triumphs and failures, ups and downs, growth and change. It’s a bit like being on a battlefield and the scars are there to prove it:

Our students’ clothes are a bit too small; their hair is a bit too shaggy, and those Nikes have definitely seen better days. Backpack zippers are broken, water bottles and library books are MIA, pencils are eraser-less nubs, and rule-abiding behavior is a thing of the past.

How do the teachers fare?

Someone once told me that you haven’t experienced true exhaustion unless you’ve a.) given birth to multiples or b.) been a teacher in May.

I haven’t experienced the former, but I can confidently say that being a teacher in May is like being a zookeeper with a pension. Our once-lovely blouses have snags and Sharpie stains, our nails are chipped and scraggly, our foreheads newly lined, there are random pieces of glitter where glitter has no business residing, and our minds are complete mush. We are the POTUS at the end of his term. We are battle worn and we are weary.

Nor have our classrooms escaped unscathed.

There’s nary a new pencil or glue stick to be found within an 100-yard radius. Books are weathered and strewn in all directions on the once-tidy shelves. Bulletin boards are missing important letters. There are staples in the walls, pencil marks on every surface, and all sorts of detritus embedded in the carpet. It’s become a battlefield, ravaged by muddy shoes, spilled drinks, sparkly glue, pencil shavings, and cracker crumbs. It’s not the same classroom we welcomed our students into last fall, nor are we the same people.

I feel confident that I’ve covered my list of curriculum requirements, but you and I both know that a victory in the classroom is way more than just checking off a set of state-mandated standards. What about all of the other stuff? You know, the important, in-between stuff?

The stuff that will hopefully stick with them long after they walk out of our classroom doors for the very last time?

I could care less if their cursive letters aren’t perfectly formed. Or if they didn’t master their seven times table (gah, why is that one so hard?) And I know I’ll catch some flak for this, but does it really matter in the long run if their third grade standardized test scores don’t reflect adequate academic growth?

Here’s my assessment of what really matters and is worth the year-long battle:

• Did my students’ hearts grow bigger, bolder, and braver?
• Do they know how and when to show empathy and compassion?
• Do they find opportunities to uplift others with their words and actions–without expecting anything in return?
• Are they able to persist without giving up?
• Have they acquired a reading taste and do they love and appreciate a good story?
• Do they recognize that curiosity is a good thing, and do they know how to find answers to the information they seek?
• Do they demonstrate integrity and value it in others?
• Will they go forth and be a beacon of kindness and positivity in a world that very much needs it from them?

This kind of growth can’t be measured on a standardized test. There’s no quantifiable data. No spreadsheet or scale score.

It relies on a simple gut check.

And on the last day of school my gut says yes, they are ready. Here’s why:

They are kind.

They are respectful of others’ viewpoints.

They find value in making mistakes and learning from them.

They are tenacious knowledge-seekers and voracious readers.

They are ready to be the kind of humans we need them to be.

Battle won.  

However, I must give credit where credit is due, and I owe this year’s victory to none other than my venerable teaching partner, entertainer extraordinaire, beloved friend to all: my books.

This is how we co-teach: I share the books.

I read them, I talk about them, I pass them around. Day after day, week after week, month after month. Books are my strongest ally and my greatest supporter. They are the underrated, underappreciated, under-the-radar MVP of great learning and character-building. They are the great uniter and what has given me a sense of triumph and fulfillment as I send my students out the door for the very last time.

My students may not remember the great lessons, but they will absolutely remember the great books.

To me that’s a battle worth winning.

Let the last day of school goodbyes begin and the emotional roller coaster ride commence. Another battle will begin in the fall, and I will be armed and ready with my army of books, awaiting another victory on the battlefield.

yours in reading,
rawley

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