when one door closes...

All of the cliches have been flying around my part of the world lately.

I have been so busy helping the 40-or-so students that I am responsible for get ready to graduate that there has been little time to do or think about anything else for the past three weeks.

I am exhausted.

Yet the vast majority of these students have completed their requirements* and on Monday they will graduate. I will be there with them. At the school where I teach it is the tradition that the teachers wear gowns and regalia and accompany the graduates in their ceremony. This will be my seventh graduation with this school, and I believe this one will be the most difficult for me to get through without crying**. My attachment to these students is so strong and I am not feeling ready to say good-bye to them. I have grown to admire them and can honestly say that they inspire me.

I teach at a large comprehensive high school that is similar to most high schools in the United States. I will refrain from blathering on and on about the flaws of the factory-model high school and the existence of the achievement gap that this model has played a part in creating and perpetuating. At some other time I may write about how I came to be a teacher, and more specifically the role that I have been playing in the reformation of the high school system in our country. It is a topic that I find fascinating and am passionate about. The school where I teach is similar to other comprehensive high schools, but it is unique in that six years ago we began the process of creating small learning communities within the school. Each year into the process another grade-level was added until all teachers and all students in the school became part of one of the Small Schools within the school. The students who are graduating on Monday will walk together as members of one large high school that consists of four Small Schools.

As a result of being part of a small school I have known most of *my* students for four years. I have watched them grow over these years. It really is amazing to see the changes that occur from age 14 to 18. But the changes a child goes through during these years are observable to most people: they grow taller, start to look like women and men; they become less awkward and more comfortable in their own skin. Because of how closely we work with our students I have had the opportunity to also see their personality and character development and have been aware of many of the personal challenges that have played a part in shaping who they are becoming.
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*My role in all of this preparation to graduate is overseeing the completion of the Senior Culminating Project and the Graduation Portfolio. All of the seniors in my Small School take a class, that I teach, where these components are part of the curriculum. Unfortunately, each year there are a few students who are holding on by a thread when it comes to meeting their graduation requirements (a problem that has diminished due to the Small School model, but has not completely disappeared). This year there was one student who told me yesterday that she will not be walking across the stage on Monday because she failed her math final. This is the same student who I took shopping a couple of weeks ago so she could have something nice to wear for her senior project presentation (in which she had the audience riveted with her story of overcoming the challenges of being born with a cleft palate and the severe hearing loss that resulted and her plans to be a nurse because of these experiences). But she held in her hands the paperwork for the on-line course she will complete this summer in order to receive her diploma.
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**This isn't completely true. While this will be the most emotionally charged graduation in terms of my attachment to my students, last year was difficult in a much different way. Last year graduation was on June 7th. June 7th was William's due date. Since he was born four months early, this date was looming for a long time. I had initially planned to take the day for myself, perhaps to go to the cemetery. But I didn't. Mr. C didn't understand why the day was so important to me. For him it was just another day--not even necessarily the day that William "would have been" born. But each day after he died the calendar continued to move forward and in my mind I kept counting forward. For me the milestones were still real, only with the added layer of "should be," such as "he should be 28 weeks now, and if he had been born now he would have such a good chance of being just fine." This continued through the months and I was very aware as his due date got closer. Maybe it would have been better if I had taken the day off of work and skipped graduation. As it was, I went numb inside in order to cope. I didn't mention the significance of the day to anyone, not even Travis who was my strongest support at work. I couldn't talk about it at all, because I knew that I wouldn't be able to maintain control if I did. In fact, I don't think I even looked anyone in the eye that day. Usually when I have to force myself to keep it together for something I will allow myself to break down once I am alone. Since I commute an hour south to go to work I did a good deal of crying in the car when my grief was fresh. But that day I didn't. The numbness lasted for days afterward, perhaps even longer than that. And even though William was born in February my mind kept going over new ground. After the due date passed things, for a while anyway, were measured in where they "should be" with a newborn in the house.