In the next two days, we will:
Practice for the 8th grade promotion ceremony and enjoy picnic festivities
Promote our 8th graders in the yearly recognition ceremony
It's a happy time. It's a frenetic time. It's a heck of an emotional time.
Students, you've made your mark. The halls of this little middle school resound with your shouts of joy, tears of drama, and deep conversations about the merits of having one teacher over another. You've survived friends, traitors, successes, failures, sports tryouts, crushes, and bullying at its most refined (middle school is the WORST for bullying and drama). You've survived the pre-teen years and are ready to forge ahead as a teenager and the more intricate social and academic challenges of high school. You're ready. Stay strong, and stay YOU.
Parents, you've survived the middle school years. Congratulations! Only a few more years, and you'll become much wiser in your child's eyes. YES, your child still needs you, maybe more than ever. Stay close. Listen. And when your child tries to draw away, stay even closer. Talk less. Listen more. You are needed in your child's life.
Teachers, thank you for the investment you've made in so many young lives. You may never know the depth of impact you've had, but you've had definite impact. Your words and actions and mentoring and tutoring have eternal significance.
This is always an emotional time of year for this administrator. I love these kids. I've lived with them for at least 180 days. I've heard their joys, sorrows, triumphs, failures, hurts, hopes, dreams, and bad jokes. I've mediated their arguments, given band-aids for their scrapes, encouraged them when they're down, laughed with them in their creative goofs, retaliated in practical jokes, discussed futures and class selections, and meted out natural consequences when they've made mistakes. "In loco parentis" is at its finest in education.
So tomorrow when I practice calling each student's name for the promotion ceremony, excuse me if there are pauses, and tears, and nose-wiping moments. And during the official ceremony, there may be more of the same, during which I need the same patience and latitude.
I love these kids. Thank you for sharing your children, parents. Thank you for sharing yourselves, students. And thank you, eighth graders, for leaving, because even though you break my heart, you're doing just what you're supposed to do. We haven't done our job in middle school if you don't leave us and experience great success in high school.
So you leave. And I weep. But the weeping is all part of the larger picture--and that is one of rejoicing.
Proud of our Falcons!
Practice for the 8th grade promotion ceremony and enjoy picnic festivities
Promote our 8th graders in the yearly recognition ceremony
It's a happy time. It's a frenetic time. It's a heck of an emotional time.
Students, you've made your mark. The halls of this little middle school resound with your shouts of joy, tears of drama, and deep conversations about the merits of having one teacher over another. You've survived friends, traitors, successes, failures, sports tryouts, crushes, and bullying at its most refined (middle school is the WORST for bullying and drama). You've survived the pre-teen years and are ready to forge ahead as a teenager and the more intricate social and academic challenges of high school. You're ready. Stay strong, and stay YOU.
Parents, you've survived the middle school years. Congratulations! Only a few more years, and you'll become much wiser in your child's eyes. YES, your child still needs you, maybe more than ever. Stay close. Listen. And when your child tries to draw away, stay even closer. Talk less. Listen more. You are needed in your child's life.
Teachers, thank you for the investment you've made in so many young lives. You may never know the depth of impact you've had, but you've had definite impact. Your words and actions and mentoring and tutoring have eternal significance.
This is always an emotional time of year for this administrator. I love these kids. I've lived with them for at least 180 days. I've heard their joys, sorrows, triumphs, failures, hurts, hopes, dreams, and bad jokes. I've mediated their arguments, given band-aids for their scrapes, encouraged them when they're down, laughed with them in their creative goofs, retaliated in practical jokes, discussed futures and class selections, and meted out natural consequences when they've made mistakes. "In loco parentis" is at its finest in education.
So tomorrow when I practice calling each student's name for the promotion ceremony, excuse me if there are pauses, and tears, and nose-wiping moments. And during the official ceremony, there may be more of the same, during which I need the same patience and latitude.
I love these kids. Thank you for sharing your children, parents. Thank you for sharing yourselves, students. And thank you, eighth graders, for leaving, because even though you break my heart, you're doing just what you're supposed to do. We haven't done our job in middle school if you don't leave us and experience great success in high school.
So you leave. And I weep. But the weeping is all part of the larger picture--and that is one of rejoicing.
Proud of our Falcons!