This year is a little different for me. My daughter, Emily, has blessed me over the last four years in ways that few people can understand. I had the proud pleasure of teaching her as a freshman in honors English, and she has continued to visit my classroom each school day since. Her sophomore year, on a day my senior classes were in the library, I heard a senior laughingly utter, "She;s coming in hot! and I turned to see this brown-haired angel sprinting (in a running style all her own) across the LMC to give me a hug. Mrs. Jordan has been telling me for two years that I need to value each and every one of those hugs in the hallway, but until recently, I did not really grasp just what she meant. My little girl is graduating. She will always be my little girl, but the days where she will be a daily constant are numbered. And I am starting to realize just how much I am going to miss it. It might not seem like a big deal to be able to trot down the southeast stairwell and duck into Mrs. Smith's room to see her, head bent low over some new sketch or painting, but it will be when I can no longer do it. I will miss flannel, an overloaded messenger bag, and bulky portfolio working their way down the hallway more than anyone can imagine. I will only need one coffee cup, but I will still keep a second around, just in case. The drawer of granola bars will stay stocked much longer, and that makes me sad.
And all of that is ok. You see, she is growing up, and that is how it is supposed to be. I know sometimes it seems as if life would be easier if our little ones just stayed little. But then we would never get to see them grow, and that is something we never want to miss. Emily is not that freshman drying her eyes before she slips back in the classroom, although she is in there somewhere, and always will be. She much more complex, stronger, and more mature. She is a young woman, a young adult who is uniquely herself. She is becoming more and more that person she is destined to be. Is she there yet? I don't think so; she has more growing to do. Shoot, so do I. And that is ok, too.
Without a doubt, I have been blessed beyond belief. For that, I say thank you. The amazing thing is, next year, I will be blessed to have my son in our building. And Dylan, he is definitely his own unique self, too.
I will probably write again on this topic as we near graduation, but I really do not want to right now. I would rather just enjoy the time that is left. So instead, I will share a poem that I wrote. I actually wrote this last year, but as we near the end of the year, my beautiful daughter's senior year, I thought I would repost.
“A Letter to My Seniors”
Jason Kohls
I just want to take the time, while I still can, to say one more thing to you
Before you walk out those doors and toss the cap and tassel.
Now, before you groan too loudly,
Remember that with one click, all evidence that you finished that senior project,
Will be gone. Poof. Just like that.
So zip it.
This is what I wanted to tell you, while I still can:
YOU DON’T KNOW.
You don’t know that this place,
Which some of you call a prison,
Has offered the freedom that only security can,
That for some,
This is the only place they feel warm, and safe, and unafraid.
Not everyone, but some,
But you don’t know.
You don’t know
That turning 18 does not really make you an adult
That some were forced to be grown up long ago,
And that others will take, just a little longer.
And some, much, much longer.
You don’t know
How much you will crave Taco Crunch
When you are reheating leftover ramen noodles because that is all that’s in the fridge
After your roommates ate the last hotdogs and it’s 7 days until payday.
You don’t know
That for one kid here,
That already happens every month, except mom lets him have the last hotdog
While she goes without,
Again.
You don’t know
That just when I want you to be gone from here,
Just like you dream of being and do not hesitate to express,
One of you will amaze me with a thought, an act, or words on a page.
You don’t know
That the impact you made here
Where you say you hate coming every day
Is deep and will be seen long after you are gone,
That someone little with wide eyes wants to be just like you
Even though you will be gone,
That the freshman you said “Hey” to on the stairs
Or the boy you helped with his books,
Or the kid who sees you and says,
“He’s like me, and if he can make it, then so can I”
You don’t know that each one of them
Feels a little better today than yesterday
Because of you.
You don’t know
How many times your mom, your dad, your aunt, or your grandpa
Has thought “I’m proud” and smiled
Because you are you.
You don’t know
What the word “commencement” actually means,
That is is not an end, but a new beginning,
You don’t know
That what you are now is no where near what you will become
And that where you will go could surprise nearly everyone
Including you.
You don’t know
How many doctors, builders, teachers, mechanics, mothers, lawyers, nurses, musicians, artists, and leaders
Sit among you right now,
You don’t know
That for every heartbreak and struggle you have felt these past years,
You will feel even more as you grow,
And they will each be worth it,
As you become who you are meant to be.
You don’t know
That despite the headaches
The frustration,
The struggles,
And the anger,
I am glad you have been here,
For a moment or two,
Before you go.
