They looked so handsome, so beautiful, so grown up.
They made us proud. They gave speeches.
They listened to wisdom.
We clapped.
We swallowed hard.
Felt lumps in our throats.
Pretended the bright sun was making us cry.
We heard their words, about how we--their teachers--
had seen their weaknesses and made them strong.
We heard how they now have the courage and confidence
to make a positive contribution to the world.
The chorus sang two songs.
I heard them sing a new song.
"Once I was seven years old, my mama told me," the lyrics began.
" 'Go make some friends or you'll be lonely.' "
I heard them sing an old song, too.
"Imagine all the people..."
The words of both songs wafted on the wind, gliding over the audience and into the air. When the last chords were played, we were left in momentary silence.
In that moment, the link between these two songs struck me.
People.
We need people.
We need them because they're the antidote for loneliness, but also because they're the hope for the future. We imagine people, crave people, and we grieve for a world where people are kinder to people.
All of the graduates, as they said their goodbyes, wanted to see the people. They didn't wander back to classrooms, they craved connections, eye contact, wisdom, embraces.
They wanted to thank the people, hug the people, lean into the people, and feel the warmth of their bodies.
They wanted their teachers, for they were the people who raised them, challenged them, watched them grow, and now stood like an aging forest of sturdy trees, so proud of the strong trees their saplings had become.
It's funny that schools are run by people; that teachers are one of the jobs that can't be replaced by machines. Sometimes I wish that I could. That I could be all things to all students. That I could be a pedagogical Swiss Army knife for their every academic and emotional need.
But people can't do that.
People are flawed.
People mess up.
People are broken.
There is this machine called the Coca-Cola Freestyle that can dispense 165 different custom Coke drinks and flavors. From. The. Same. Machine.
Sometimes I wish that was me. That my students could hit a button and select the methods of instruction that work best with their learning style. I could connect to the auditory learners who love projects and music just as well as I could meet the needs of the multiple choice test-takers who love lectures and need to walk around while they think. Then, those kinesthetic thinkers who need to move around, and the auditory learners who need to hear things, and those students who struggle with executive functions and learn best with a graphic organizer and a teacher beside them, could all just hit a button and I could be that.
If someone needs corny jokes to relax? Presto, just hit the custom teacher button and the teacher fits the need.
If someone else needs a disciplinarian to keep them in line? Boom. The Freestyle Teacher is a master of restorative justice.
But people aren't like that. We can't be all things for all students. And, as teachers, graduation reminds us of this because, just as happy as we are to hug our former students and watch, admiringly, as they walk into the sunset of their future, there are also students who we think we might have missed; students for whom we could have done a little more, connected with more deeply.
But we're human. And we need humans. And there will be more humans to connect with those students, and that is all we can hope for: that the sum of a student's educational journey--whether it happens in a school or not--will include people who connect with that student. People who see them, and who leave them feeling fuller and more equipped to navigate the world where people are imperfect. And yet there is so much good in the midst of our mistakes, our risks, our flaws. Teachers bring out that good in children. They can see weakness and turn it into strength. And when they can't, they can trust that they did their best, and there will be other mentors and teachers and inspirations awaiting that child.
One of the graduates left a note in my mailbox.
It made me cry.
It ended with,
"I wish you so much happiness..."
What a line.
What a good word.
That's my wish for my students, too.
That they would find their Coke Freestyle.
That their life would become the flavor that suits them.
I wish them so much happiness.
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