School Days

Thursday, of last week, was the final day of school before summer. The last day at a place I love. A tiny school nestled between housing complexes and a sketchy corner store that sells everything from dougnuts and coffee to a few things not found at the local Duane Reade.

I remember my interview (fifth that week) for the school. The desperation to find a job resounded in my voice. My outlook was bleak. I arrived at the front office sweaty and frazzled, a product of hopping on one subway and several wrong buses. I flopped down in the only available chair and prayed that this school would be nice to this small town Kentuckian because I couldn’t handle more rejection or disappointment. I was like Goldilocks that week – one school was too scary, one school was too far, one school was too crazy. Then, I met everyone at this school and found it just right.

Some of my kids come from nice homes and happy families. Some come from foster care and parents that work three jobs. But, it’s pretty hard to tell the difference. The school comforts and supports them, gives them the chance to develop into the people they can be when not pushed and beaten down by outside forces.

I was sad on Thursday. Sad to wave goodbye to the brightly painted murals. Sad to say goodbye to an amazing principal and staff. Sad to wave goodbye to the boys with toothy smiles and the girls with tiny braids. I love the students. I love the teachers. I love my little, sweet school and I can’t wait to return next year.