The school year is ended. Yesterday we would have sung goodbye to the children when they boarded the buses to roll out for the last time. We would have cried, hugged, and promised to see them in the fall. Our shoulders would have sagged with relief. We'd taught, loved, chided, taught some more, relentlessly. We would have known we'd have wrung the last drop of energy from our sweat and had poured love and learning into those kids with all we had, until we release them, like doves from a box, to fly, soar, and disappear over the summer horizon.
But no.
We said 'hey, see ya later' on Thursday March 12, expecting to see them pile back into school on Monday after the Teacher Workday and the weekend was over.
It never happened.
The President called a National Emergency for the coronavirus, school closed temporarily, and a few weeks later our school was closed for the year.
And the school has been empty ever since. The tape used to hang kid art, science projects, essays, dry up and they hang askew or have fallen to the floor. Classrooms have been packed. Unfinished math problems written on the white board have half-erased. The lost and found is still piled with winter coats.
This is all that's left of the children; their pencil boxes, end of school year rewards, report cards, unfinished workbooks, left behind toys. Their school life in a bag.
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| Goodbye, wonderful children! We love you!! |
We returned to school a few days ago in staggered socially distant shifts to finalize the school year in organized fashion, pack rooms, and finish report cards of learning we oversaw, but didn't deliver. Are they growing? Healthy? Safe? Happy? We won't know until the fall. IF school reopens normally.
Tomorrow, us support staff will pile into the gym and await the procession of cars to drive by. The principal and assistant principal will look at the dashboard for the name of the child, call it to us in the gym, and we'll go get the bag and hand it to the Principals to give the family member driving up. That's it. All a child's hopes, fears, entire year, is piled into a bag and it gets handed to them as they drive up and away. We won't be able to see the kids or speak to them because of social distancing. Hugs are banned.
It's what we're required to do and that's fine, I trust our leaders to know what's best for the school district. It's an organized and efficient way to return the items to the families and to get end of year report cards and other paperwork to them too.
As I envision the cars lining up tomorrow with a hand out to receive their child's bag, it reminds me of this Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman song. I have always liked the gentle marching aspect to it. It's processional. And sad. Right now, it marks my mood.
1 comment:
This song, especially sung by these two, always makes me cry, as much for the beauty of it as the sadness. After your poignant description I can picture in my mind what today will look like for you, and I imagine you'll have this song playing in your head. Praying for you, sister.
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