Dad on Duty#101

The Last Day.

The day I have dreaded for so very long.

Here it is.

******

We already decided not to try to do our last Bobby Day on this same day.  It would be too much.  It’s one thing to leave Bobby, and then a whole other thing to leave this building.  They are connected, but also separate.

That probably does not make sense to anyone but us.

Every other year….five other years….on the last day, it was a joyful, boisterous ride to school.  Wee-heee!  Summer, here we come!

Today, it is solemn.  The drive to school is quiet.  We pull into the parking lot, and Tori is obviously and profoundly sad.  I don’t know if it’s just her reflecting me, or if it is genuinely her own.  Our emotions are too intertwined now, in this school experience.

Today, in this moment, I think the emotional alliance between Tori and I overrides all else.  And I’m not sure it’s healthy.

We enter the building and, as usual for a non-Bobby Day, separate at the front door; me to the office, her to class.

We always briefly hug there, and affirm.  “Love you, see you shortly” is our usual routine in these circumstances.

Today, it is a longer hug than usual.  And we say……nothing.  Savanah, one of her most steady and foundational friends, puts her arm around her shoulder as they walk down the hall, without me, in silence.

I didn’t want my departure from this place to dominate Tori’s experience of moving forward.  This should be a great day for her, not bogged down by my sadness.

But, I think for Tori, it is also a transition that engenders heartache.  She has been so completely at ease in this building, and with these people.  She was a Queen here, a celebrity.

And that is all about to go away.  Today.  It ends.  She knows that.

So, she mourns that.  But, maybe mostly, she mourns my mourning.

*******

We are having an all-school assembly, to send off the Boss.  She is moving on to a new job in Houston.  She has been here, like me, for six years, since the opening of this building.  It will be a very difficult good-bye for her too.

We have a handful of other teachers and aids who are also leaving this place. Many of them have also been here for the entire life of this building…..which is also the entire elementary experience for Tori.  And a substantial part of this team also taught the #1 child, Jack.

So we’re going to have a celebration and recognition for all those leaving our school.

I spend quite a bit of time prepping the cafeteria for the assembly.  It boils down to manual labor.  I, along with Marc and the custodians, push a lot of tables out of the space, onto the sidewalk outside.  It is physically strenuous, but also a lot like raking sand.  Simple, relatively thoughtless, but immediately gratifying.  The physical effort feels good.  And you can *see* what you’ve done….the tables are here now, not there.

It is an interesting metaphor for today.  Things.  Must.  Move.

And I reflect on that a bit.  Things must move.  That is how this world works.  I literally and actually stop, and think on that for a bit, on the sidewalk, outside the cafeteria.

*******

So now the scholars move down for the assembly.  All of 5th grade, including my kid, go up on the stage.  The other 500 kids gather in the main space of the cafeteria.

I spend the time as I always do, directing kids, herding the cats, making sure nobody leaks out the back doors, checking big people for stickers, watching for suspicious stuff.

Everybody is here now.  We are about to begin.

I turn toward the back of the room, to check the outside door.  I am walking away from the stage.  It is 150 feet from me to the podium.

I honestly have no idea of the agenda or the plan here.  All I know is that all 625 kids, that I believe (whether it’s true or not) I am responsible for, are in this room.  That’s really all I am thinking about right now.

As I move to the back of the space, to check the door, I suddenly hear Tori’s voice, on the PA system.

That will stop you dead in your tracks.

My daughter, is speaking, to everyone.

But really, to me.

She says “you know my Dad.  He has been here since the beginning of this school….”.

I honestly don’t hear anything else.

I wish I did.  I bet it was awesome.  She talked for a couple minutes.  But I was….completely….in…shock.  I heard nothing.

She finishes, and walks down into the crowd toward me, carrying a book.

I am having trouble focusing now.  But I know I need to walk towards her, and get whatever book it is that she is carrying.

She hands me the book, and we hug.  For a bit.

 

 

Then the Boss walks over and says “go up there with her”, motioning towards the stage.  “Go up and stand with Tori, on the stage.  They want to sing to you”.

I am clearly a bit overwhelmed.

They want to sing to you.  Oh.  No.

Then, the Boss, does this:

She grabs my shoulders, pulls me close, looking me hard in the eyes, and says “Do.  Not.  Cry.”

Yeah.  Because that will work.  Thanks.

I go up on the stage, with Tori.  I stand right behind her.

Looking out, I see all 625 kids for whom I have watched over all this time.  I remember the other hundreds and hundreds who have come and gone.

Immediately in front of me, is Tori.  With whom I have shared this incredible experience for six years.

“Don’t cry” The Boss said.

Sure.   No problem.

So, the kids sing me a song.  It is beautiful.

And I stand there.

And…..I didn’t cry.   I am sure I lost at least five years of lifespan, but I did not cry.

It was as completely difficult as you can possibly imagine.

 

********

I had asked the Boss for a “team meeting” today.  Just her, the A/P and the counselor.  It’s tough to name the “team” here; there are so very many people who are genuinely integral to the success of these kids.

But at some point, you have to draw a circle, and say “these are the people that most influenced our experience”.

After the assembly, the Boss calls on the radio and asks “did you want that meeting?”

Yes.  Give me just a minute to get the supplies.

They have gathered in the Boss’ office.  I enter, with the supplies.  Wordless, I dispense a….drink.  Just bubbly grape juice, don’t worry.

I ask them to…well, frankly…to shut up.  They have been telling me what to do for six years.  Right now, I want them to just….listen to me.

And, with enormous difficultly, I talk to them.

It is like lifting a mountain.  The weight of it.  We have been through so very much.

So, I talk for about 10 minutes.  Slowly, haltingly and chokingly.

There are a lot of tears.

We toast.

And then, as we should, we walk out and deal with…kids, and teachers, and parents.

We go to work.

*********

Over the course of the day, I go and visit each classroom to which Tori was assigned.

I just want to talk to the room.  The space.

In order, starting with Stephanie Grimes’ room in Kindergarten hall.

I wanted a quiet moment with each place, remembering our experiences there.  Not just me, not just Tori, but Amy and Jack too.  We all four spent a lot of time in those rooms.

And here’s where God suddenly became very visible to me.

We’ve talked, you and I, in this blog, about the impossibility of finding quiet space in this building.  I’ve needed it many times, to regroup, but have rarely found more than 15 seconds of it.  In six years.

Today, as I went to each room……each and every room…..it was empty.  All for different reasons; KG was at lunch and recess, when I got to first grade, they had just gone to lunch too.  By 5th grade, it was getting really weird; there was NO reason for Ms. Childs’ room to be empty, but it was.

Every single room.  Empty.  All mine.  As long as I needed.

That’s.  Impossible.

Aha.  I looked up and said “got it.  Thank You”.

So I got my moment, in all six rooms.  In silence, alone.

I did the same thing outside; I walked, quietly, around the entire building one more time.  Touched the walls, talked to the birds a bit.  As I have done hundreds of times before.

Closure.

******

Now it is time for dismissal.

This is all auto-pilot after six years.  Open the outside doors, set up the cones, start herding the daycare bus riders first, then the car riders.  Chase down the answer for why Susie isn’t getting on the bus for Xplor.

All done.  Handled, as always.

The last kid gets in her car.

We head in to the office.

When I work, I wear my radio (that belongs to me, actually….but I keep it at school) and a master key on an official lanyard.

Now, it’s time to pack up the radio, and put the lanyard back in the drawer, for the very last time.

Tori is standing quietly nearby.  After packing up my radio and charger, I walk back up to the front desk, where I usually sit.

That’s where the lanyard and key are kept.  What has now become, after six years, my key and my desk.

All three girls that I take home are standing there, surprisingly quiet and expectant.  So are some of the staff.

I walk up to the drawer, open it, and drop the key in it’s place.

“That’s it” I say to no one, and everyone.  That’s it.

At this point, I’m having a pretty tough time.  I can’t take too much more of this, right now.  I don’t really even say goodbye to anybody….I think I’m “goodbye’d” out.

Me and the three girls walk out.  Heading to the truck, I hear Tori crying now.

Like our ride into school, this departure is completely different than the previous five years.  Every other time, Tori would shout as loud as she could, in the parking lot: “I’m a third grader now!!” (Or whatever grade she was going to next).

Not a word this time.  Just sniffling.

We load into the truck.  Still silence, with some crying.

Finally, Savanah gets her to start chatting.  By the time we get home, Tori’s doing fine.  She’s talking, and even laughing.

That’s what a great friend will do for you.

******

At one point in our “team meeting” earlier today, one of the ladies said to me “you know, you are perfectly welcome to just stay here next year.  You’re going to work somewhere, why not here?”

An important point.  And one I’ve thought about a lot, obviously.

After a moment of silence, I say to all three of the Team; “you’ve got to know when it’s done, when it is time to go.  And. This. Is. Done.  It is time to go.”

And so…..I did.