We see other teachers after graduation. They say they have a potluck at school the next day and no classes to teach. I am grumpy and tell them that we have a 2 hour block, a 1.5 hour assembly and an hour with our advisory.
Admittedly, I love it. (Love is a strong word – I don’t hate it.) Kiddos are grumpy and antsy and complain about having to do work on the last day (though they mostly do it anyway). I make my advisory do our somewhat honored traditional of writing letters to themselves and then writing notes to the rest of the class. I stand at the board and help them spell weird things like what North Americans call the different grade levels and think about how I’ll miss this a little bit in the summertime.
“The Mister (that’s me) is going to lock the door and won’t let me back in next year,” says 10th grader Gregorio (probably in Spanish) as class winds down. “He doesn’t want me in class any more.”
“He’s totally right,” I tell the class, deadpan, and move on.
It’s a good thing we’re both lying.