Today, I took each concrete step slowly.
I paused to fully appreciate the grandeur of the stately brick buildings.
I inhaled the aroma of grass and clay from the ball fields.
I sighed.
Then I walked across the parking lot for the last time.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been preparing myself for today: my last day at LMHS. I’ve written extensively about how this school, these people, saved me, saved my teaching career.
My readers have been bombarded with my nostalgic commentaries about what teaching has come to mean to me, and how my experience this year changed everything for me. It changed my outlook on education, teenagers, teachers, writing, testing, and what it means to live life fully.
To say that I’m thankful is an understatement. Those of you who read the blog weekly already know that I will never be able to truly repay everyone who helped me my find my way this year. Those readers are also privy to many of the ways they supported and shaped me into the kind of person I want to be. (Please check out “If Only for a Season” and its follow-up post for details). So, after many blogs that reveled in the joy of this school year and my overwhelming hope for the future, I really felt that I had prepared myself for the goodbyes that would happen today.
Not the case.
Instead, I felt as though I was leaving a part of myself behind.
I couldn’t ignore the fact that although all of my personal belongings had been packed up and moved home (to take over the dining room for the summer), that something important to me still lingered behind, making it difficult to walk away without looking back.
I desperately hope this is not the case.
You see, I like the new Emma Grace.
Oh, she still has so many flaws, but she’s working on some and learning to embrace others.
Most importantly, she has a newly acquired passion, which she gained from working with passionate educators and unique, quirky students.
And now she wants to take it with her wherever she goes.
So while I hope to be remembered, I don’t want to leave this passion behind me. I want to embrace it, use it to build a classroom where students want to be, and apply it to a curriculum that prepares them for so much more than an end of course exam.
But there is a part of me I’m ready to leave behind: my concern for my VAM score.
The county can care about it all they want. They can make themselves crazy with numbers and statistics and percentages. They can stress about the outcomes of flawed tests.
I’m more than a number, and I’m passionate to prove it.
With this realization, I find that I’m feeling better about moving on.
I am ready.
I’m also finally ready to say:
Goodbye Lake Minneola.
You’ve made me stronger than I ever could have imagined, and I’ll forever be grateful.
photo credit: elycefeliz via photopin ccphoto credit: Mary Brack ~ www.mewithmyheadintheclouds.blogspot. via photopin cc
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