Last days of school

So I have a confession to make-- on Friday, June 13, with 5 days of school left, I asked my students a very simple and yet unprofessional question: "Who needs to give me a hug goodbye because this is their last day of school?"

I expected at least 5 kids to inform me that yes, it was their last day of school. It's customary for most students (or at least half) to simply skip the last week of the school year. And yet all 15 of the students present that day (I guess I DID have 4 students absent) informed me that they didn't need to say goodbye yet-- they planned to be at school each and every day during that last week.

Part of me was really disappointed; that means more kids to babysit/entertain during the final days of the school year. It also means we need more structure and I have less class time to spend cleaning out my closet and boxing up books to take home.

But another part of me cherishes these last few days, the few moments I have left with these 19 students I have had the privilege of teaching for these 183 days.

And now. . . Friday's highlights.

I threw a surprise party for my students on Friday afternoon-- I pulled two students out of their music class to help me set everything up. We walked to my car first, to retrieve the chips, cookies, plates, cups, and napkins I had hidden there. When we got to the car, one of my students immediately jumped into the backseat, saying, "I want to see what it feels like in Ms. Jenkins' car! This jawn (see urbandictionary.com) be bangin'!"

As we carried everything back to the room, these two rather rambunctious young men began eagerly (and voluntarily) cleaning the classroom, setting everything up. While they worked, we also talked. One of them suggested I play an elaborate practical joke on the class-- he decided it would be hilarious if I taught 7th grade the following year, and chose to have all of the same students in my class. On the first day of school, I would tell them that they had all been retained and would be in my 6th grade class again. They also discussed which of my students would cry first/loudest.

I took that as an opportunity to tell these young men that I will not be returning to our school next year. I was worried that they would a) be excited or b) think I was leaving because of them. Instead, the other student responded in this way, "Why are you leaving, Ms. Jenkins? I bet you're leaving because you'll make more money. You don't need that money. I bet those other kids will drive you crazy. You'll be coming back here, begging us to let you be our teacher again."

They then began to talk to me about what I had meant to them as a teacher, and ways that I had impacted them ("No other teacher really, you know, worked with me like that," etc.).

They also started talking about how they live a block away from each other, and hang out together, and get in lots of trouble. They go to the movies together, too, and apparently almost always get kicked out of the theater. I responded simply, "And that's why I don't go to that theater."

When the other kids came back, I made them stand silently in the hallway for a few extra minutes, convincing them that they were in trouble. When they came into the classroom, music was playing, they could smell the pizza, and I had written, "Congratulations, 205 A! Average reading level in September: 5.12. Average reading level in June: 7.2."

As excited as they were about the party, I think they were more excited about the growth in their reading levels. I few kids said, "So that's two years- that means we met our goal!" Another kid said, "I'm surprised- I can't believe these kids actually learned something!" Then we had a party . . . an hour of eating and talking and dancing and laughing. An hour of remembering why I love my kids and being in the classroom.