There is a magical time - somewhere between 20 and 25 minutes before dismissal - when I invite students students to stand before their peers and tell them goodbye. For some, this may be their last time to see other in a lifetime. I need not coax them, and I need not force anyone to speak. All I ask is for the rest to listen, while I listen, too, to impromptu words from our Hoggatteer family.
I'll save the names and identities for this post. Suffice it to say that the young lady pictured kicked everything off with a speech she has been preparing for a few days. She worded her speech eloquently as she thanked the class for her best school year ever. She bravely looked me in the eye and addressed appreciation to me, as well, crediting me with really making a difference in her life.
My emotions are usually just under the surface, which is why I don't even try to deliver a farewell speech on the last day of school any more, and there were stirrings of sniffles already starting in the peanut gallery, blending with the applause we had for the first speech. In fact, I forgot I had a camera in hand to take more pictures after this one.
All subsequent addresses were made "on the fly". A couple of kids choked up in the middle, but courageously continued to express themselves through the tears. One otherwise shy young lady wisely kept hers short. Many of the words were the same types of sentiment, but some struck a chord with teacher and classmates.
One young man told me that I helped him with his anger issues, saying that he was starting to catch himself earlier in the anger process than ever before. Another said he was changing his attitude about school and that he was carrying himself with more confidence. One girl emotionally expressed that she had been able to cope with her anger much better, as well, while another told the class that she finally was able to make more friends than she had before.
Before we knew it, everyone was talked out, and the only thing left was one giant group hug in the middle of our floor. Once there, all I needed to say was, "Once a Hoggatteer..." to which the group responded, "Always a Hoggatteer!" before breaking apart to be dismissed. Like I said, it is a magical end to the year. There are lots of fantastic sobs, and snot all over the place. Hugs wrap around us in loving embraces, as say how much we love each other.
There are no behavior points awarded on a day like this. No threats of removed privileges. No candy incentives.
And while there also may not be any state standards in sight, students on the last day of school are truly invested in a human bond that most classes probably do not share in quite the same way. Merging with other classes in the hallway before leaving the building for one last time, Hoggatteers may be noticeably puffy around the eyes, but they also share another attribute that sets them apart: while other kids are happy to face a summer, free from academics and, for some, oversight, Hoggatteers leave with a different type of joy - the joy of completion of something special. Ours is the joy of having just experienced relationships that were real, if only for a year. Our relationships were real, and meaningful, and they were ours.
Before leaving the school on the last day, that tough little kid who used to hide his head whenever learning was being shot directly at him, that tough little boy who didn't think he need to our even could do what I expected him to do, looked directly into my eyes, amidst the hallway chatter, and simply said my name.
"Mr. Hoggatt..."
And the was a plea in his voice. He reached out to me and hugged me tightly, and that's all he needed to do. During his embrace, I locked eyes with my teaching partner and saw him acknowledge the hug, as well.
If for no other reason than this, my 26th year of teaching has been worthwhile.