After spending a year as a retired high school English teacher, I just returned to my former high school to participate in the commencement ceremony at the invitation of a graduating senior. It’s an honor to be asked and part of a lovely tradition that allows seniors to choose a staff member to hand them their diploma before they shake the hands of the administrators and school board.
Seated in the folding chairs on the football field will be coaches, extracurricular sponsors, front office staff, bus drivers, and teachers. They all will hand out diplomas. One cherished “lunch lady” has handed out diplomas for the past several years, honored by many students with whom she makes a special connection with her caring and genuine personality.
My graduate is a student I shouldn’t have had in class. She deserved much more challenge than I was able to provide her. But she appreciated my advocating for her. I was honored to sit behind the podium with dozens of other staff members and carefully walk across the uneven sod to hand her the empty folder and pose for a picture. All the while, I prayed I wouldn’t fall or have my skirt caught in a sudden gust of wind for the cameras to capture forever.
You see, public events are excruciating for me. I stew about them beforehand.
Sometimes for days.
Last year, when I retired from the classroom, I didn’t want a staff recognition party. I didn’t even attend the corporation’s end of year gathering of all the staff. I suspected the retirees would be called up front and presented with a token of appreciation.
Even though others didn’t understand, I didn’t want it, didn’t need it. I was happy to just walk out the door, satisfied with a job well done.
A day or two before, I relented when an administrator subtly suggested I might be stealing their joy, that their school wide carry-in meal celebration signified closure for them as we retirees left, even if I didn’t care about any recognition. So I joined the other retirees and staff for a few minutes. And truly, it was lovely to be presented with a photo album filled with letters from students that the staff had somehow finagled. It’s in my office, and I’ve rifled through it a few times this past year.
But now, I’m watching the clock and steeling myself for the five graduation parties I’ve been invited to. I believe if a student invites me, I should attend if at all possible. It isn’t often that teachers of lower grades receive accolades, and I take a graduation party invitation as one. Even so, it isn’t easy.
It’s going to take all day for me to get mentally prepared for my ten-minutes of social interaction at each place, where to park, what to say when I walk in, where to walk in, where to sit and with whom, what to say and to whom. I conjure up everything that can possibly go wrong, what awkward comment I may make or struggle to make just to be polite. I rehearse them in my mind, but it doesn’t help ease my anxiety.
My dread of graduation parties started years ago. After being invited to a few open houses and finding the graduate outside playing volleyball or laughing at stories around a campfire with their friends out back, I was done. I’d ended up spending too much time sitting in a corner trying to make small talk with their Great Aunt Esther. I had to set some boundaries.
For several years, I told my seniors, “I’d be glad to pop in at your open house, on the condition that you pull yourself away from your friends for a few minutes to say a few words to me. Then I’ll leave you to your friends.”
They all laughed, and we talked about what introverts deal with. All the kids who invited me after that were very attentive. True to my word, I didn’t monopolize their time. My MO was to slip in, say a few words to the graduates and their parents, look at the photo displays, and then slip out. It worked, even though it was still somewhat stressful.
But I haven’t taught seniors for many years now. In fact, four of the open houses invitations this year are from students I had during their freshman year. That was our crazy year of teaching with COVID-19, first masked and face-to-face with homeroom students, then face-to-face with assigned classes, then remotely, then hybrid. I barely had the chance to get to recognize their unmasked faces, much less lay down the law about my time with Aunt Esther.
So, it’s with a prayer for help that I set out on my carefully timed route to respectfully and genuinely pop in to wish my former students well, leave them with a journal – after all, I was their English teacher– and be on my way with as little elevation in my blood pressure as possible.
I breathe deeply. I pray for the right words. I circle around the neighborhoods, double-checking addresses, and making sure I am in the right place before parking.
Then I plunge ahead, walking into homes and party venues, hoping to recognize a familiar face straight away, someone I have a connection with.
I start with my well-rehearsed plan of action: park, dash in, drop off the gift, and find the graduate, all in ten minutes or less.
But this year, something else ended up happening… at each event.
At the first party, I met the graduate’s grandfather, an old friend of my parents, whom I’d heard about for years. We chatted for a few minutes, and I was excited to pass along his greetings to my mother later. Then I found the graduate, who shared her plans to be an entrepreneur. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I knew she’d succeed in her business venture. I left feeling excited for her future.
At the second party, I was the first guest to arrive! That meant I had the chance to chat more with the graduate. She’d made an extensive display of her work studying dentistry, so she told me about the tools that she used, her research projects, and her plans for her future, and all before other guests fully came in the door! What a lovely chance to catch up with her and wish her well!
At the third party, the graduate told me about a new field in counseling psychology that connects to theater. Her upcoming studies sounded fascinating, and I had lots of questions. I was thrilled to learn that more help is on the way for students who are struggling so fiercely with mental health issues.
The fourth and fifth parties were just as enjoyable. I was amazed to see the dance accomplishments of one student who was always so serious– and quiet– in class, but also proud of her accomplishments and the brilliant future awaiting her at a top 12 university. At the last celebration, I was pleased to tell my former student a surprising story about his accomplishments during his freshman year, a story that he’d never heard.
At all the events, the students were gracious and kind and willing to spend time chatting with me about what they’d learned and where they were headed. They bubbled with excitement about their bright futures.
Finished with the five parties, and as lovely as they were, I did breathe a huge sigh of relief when I was able to cross them off the calendar. But as my pencil made that diagonal line, I scolded myself. I had wasted so much energy mentally preparing for events that had turned out to be delights.
Sometimes, we introverts spend too much time wallowing in the “what if’s” and end up missing the joys. That almost happened to me. You can bet I’ll remember this year’s graduates fondly for teaching me a much-needed lesson: let go of your worries and enjoy all the moments today; tomorrow, they’re just a memory.
