And as I sat in the corner of Kaits classroom watching the amazing slide show of their year, I saw her push her glasses up her nose and smile that Kait smile. She's so little but so big and here we go with middle school. I gazed at her and felt a little piece of my heart break. I'll miss this little girl with a big determination who loves Harry Potter and snap circuits. I took her picture with her teacher and Ms. Travis shook her head and said "I just wonder what she's going to be." I winked back tears and said "a teacher like you of course!" She shook her head and said "I just don't know about that. She's a very confident and mature young lady." I sucked back tears for the fourth time and nodded. Ms. Travis saw Kait and loved her for all that she is.
I gazed around the room at all of the kids I never got to know and all of the parents who I've never met and totally pretended to be busy caring for Hazel. I'm not a social butterfly in schools. I blame my uncomfortability on those homeschooling years I always talk about. I don't walk my kids up and socialize with the principal. I don't make photo copies for teachers or attend PTA meetings.
Of course, someone recognized me. I can only assume I have a very distinctive face. It happens at least once a month that I'm staring at the face of a complete stranger who remembers me from a distant brief encounter. And it's really stressful to try and remember them quickly and not be awkward. I don't know why but it just saps me. Put me somewhere safe with familiar faces and Jody's arm around my waist and I will shine but enduring that brunch without crying over Kaits adorableness or offending strangers was hard. That makes me sound like such a pansy but it's true.
I made my way to Nick's classroom and saw Ms. McKinsey. I'm so sad for Nick to leave her. She's such a great teacher. She has loved him like a mother and drawn great things out of him and it's all I could have asked and more. She said my note made her cry. I think I'm sick for feeling satisfied by that. Why must I provoke nostagia and play emotions like a fiddle with my pen? Why is perfunctory thanks never enough? So, she stamped his heart with love and sent him on to fourth grade. Between his amazing soccer coach and his lovely teacher, Nick was launched into summer floating on a puffy cloud of inspiration.
Eden is so 13. Her year ended with an art piece at the district show which I found out about a week late, followed by a friend telling me she won an award which they noticed in the middle school newsletter and showed me for proof on the spot. A couple weeks later, as my sister ran to award ceremonies for her middle schooler, I was oblivious to my daughter accepting yet another art award at her school as well as various other recognitions that she mentioned vaguely as "a ribbon" and a "certificate for something" this morning but refused to show me. She's a great kid. Her authenticity, blatant scorn of societal filler and recognition without money prizes is hilarious... refreshing... I really hope she never changes. It's weird for middle schoolers to have a picture taken with their teacher so Stella is a stand in for Mr. Townsend, the one who drew out Eden's great talent and saw her which pushed her on to build her artistic talent.
As a side note, I am still in a feud with her history teacher, Mr. Brand who is holding a stunning portrait Eden spent at least 50 hours on hostage and not returning my emails.
Hello Summer. Here we go.
No comments:
Post a Comment