At the end of the picture book Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmans, "Miss Clavel ran fast and faster and she said, 'Please children do--tell me what is troubling you?' And all the little girls cried, 'Boohoo, we want to have our appendix out too!"
If you ask adults about the girls' response, they invariably reply that the girls want to have their appendix out so that they can get all the wonderful gifts like those Madeline got from Papa. But if you ask three- and four-year olds, they almost always point to the empty bed: their friend is missing. They are not a complete set. There is a hole in their midst. The group is upset.
I think this effectively captures the feelings of a class on the last day of school when a child is missing. The last day, full of rituals, pranks and reflections, represents an important metacognitive activity: look how far we've come. Remember our first day together? Look at how we've conquered some problems, created new friends, overcome anxieties and bonded as a class. Look at the room, stripped of all our art, our notices, our creations. Who are we, really?
Every class has its own special events planned for the last day. Even if it looks like no learning is taking place, it is as utterly as important as the first day of school. Teachers plan personal goodbyes, specific words of encouragement for individual children and special ceremonies. My son Adam, when he was with Lina Wessels and Brian Eames in the upper elementary, took part in a gift-giving and receiving ceremony; the gifts had to have little or no monetary value but high symbolic value. His friend Aaron gave him a stout walking stick he had found on a camping trip and carved a message on it. Aaron told Adam that he was like the stick: dependable and someone he could lean on. Adam is now 21. He still has the stick. My son Justin was part of David Millians' class just before heading off to junior high. David wrote a short passage describing Justin's passions and challenges and concluded it with the words, "The adventure continues." That piece of paper is taped over Justin's bed. Justin is now 25.
I remember a few years ago, a father was here in the elementary library, planning to meet his son to pick out some summer reading. The boy, Jeremy, had just had his last day in Jonny and Allan's 10 & 11 year old class. He burst through the doors, ran sobbing into his father's arms, and gasped, "That was the best year of my life. I'll never have another year like that." I've watched Jeremy have lots of good years since, but that day, and the chance to reflect on what his teachers and classmates meant to him, was profound.
Finally, a highlight of the last day is the sing along. Watching these kids belt out the school song with gusto is a hilarious sight. It is one of the few times that Paul Bianchi addresses the elementary school, and his comic and reassuring remarks, especially to the children moving on to junior high, make everyone feel deep connections to Paideia.
Of course children have to leave for Grandma's 90th birthday or other important events. But the numbers of children who get a head start on vacation, who take off for Disney World to beat the crowds, continues to astound me. What are their parents thinking? One writer talks about the members of an elementary school class as a jigsaw puzzle. What do you do with a jigsaw puzzle that is missing one or two pieces? Those holes are the single most evident thing about the puzzle. It is incomplete. Do parents really think that their child won't be missed?
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Natalie,
ReplyDeleteYou truly do capture the last day of school. Henry came home from John and Shannon's class (as Lucy did 5 years ago) with a stack of quotations and cartoons, mounted on construction paper, humorously suggesting his strengths and frailties. The Jr. High also had a its first "last day ceremony" with students from each class speaking about their experience. I cannot imagine Henry missing out on either of those events.
I've decided this year in teaching that closure is an especially important aspect of the job. Children (and I daresay adults) need closure. Closure on emotional situations and on learning experiences. Several times this year, I've included a Project Adventure "whip around" closure concept: each child says one word or one phrase to summarize what they've learned or how they feel. We did this on the last day this year and children were able to express the mixture of confusing emotions about leaving their class. By contrast, one student who was withdrawn early, didn't get to experience that. I take comfort from the fact that, though we did not know until the morning of his departure that it would be that day, I asked the students to "whip around" with one word to describe that child, so he could leave feeling the affirmation of his peers, if nothing else. I've known adults who have left jobs with nothing more than a goodbye to the person in the office next to theirs; it is very disorienting.
Our culture has abandoned most liturgy, but for the national anthem at sporting events and the liturgy of food and shopping for holidays. The liturgics of good-bye are too important to leave to chance, especially for children. Bravo for you for pointing this out.