These final days of school go on like goundhog Fridays, heading into a weekend that’s slow to arrive but then is suddenly permanent. Serial completions and ceremonies, hikes and walks and picnics and games. Finishing up, finishing touches, finishing at last. There’s one more week, then it’s four more days, one more lesson, a last assembly, goodbye. What matters doesn’t matter as much as it did when it was urgent and pressing and due last week. Report cards and comments and reflections – an abundance of words describing what was, who did and didn’t, where we grew and how we learned – creating threads of remnants we won’t remember a year from now.
These final days that run hot and cold; the kids are wild and inwardly so are we. Conversations about summer plans run aground in my mind, I cannot think of the future. ‘This is our last class’ I have heard myself say 6 times or more in the last two days. Our last class but not the last time we’ll see each other. The final days are full of lasts but who can know the difference? We are preparing for release and rupture, too. Our routines and protocols are already for the birds it seems, but in two days’ time we can officially toss them out the window into the fresh hot air of summer. These final days that dog us with all the things we want and don’t want from ourselves, from our kids, from the thing we call a school year. These final days – the infinite tease – they mark us when we think we are marking them.