It's no secret for anyone that knows me as a teacher, but I like to gush about the Beloit Turner Class of 2021. When you left the middle school to move aaaalllll the way across the hall to the high school, I wrote my first sappy, feelings-filled blog post. The next year when I left Turner there were plenty of reasons to write another sappy, feelings-filled blog post and the class of '21 was featured heavily again. Now it's time for Part III because it's the end of an era. You've graduated. In the midst of a global pandemic and going through another change of districts (to work across the street again, much like at Turner) there was plenty for me to worry about in my day-to-day teaching existence. One worry kept nagging at me throughout the 2020-21 school year though. I had a very realistic fear that there would be no graduation ceremony for this class. It was my biggest promise when I left Turner and I had every intention of keeping it. I also came across some of the letters written to me before I left basically saying I was coming to graduation and there would be no excuses. I doubt a global pandemic was part of the calculus in that, but luckily, vaccinations were doled out and health department restrictions were eased enough where I got the green light to attend. I went through my entire final week of school in DeForest thinking ahead to a return trip to Turner on Sunday, thankful for the opportunity. Everything about the ceremony was full of nostalgia. I found a spot way back in the staff bleachers with Mrs. Crull-Hanke and looked over at the high jump pit and saw so many kids jumping in my mind's eye. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the softball diamond, aka kickball diamond, and the open field where I played football every day at lunch with so many of the kids that were about to come out in their caps and gowns. Mrs. Warden told me how many views my YouTube channel was getting from her senior cohort and all of a sudden I was picturing Mrs. Crull-Hanke next to me in a Walter Payton jersey on a fake turntable in the middle of a line of dancing 7th graders. Then I snapped back to reality when everyone began filing into the field looking all tall and grown up even from that distance. Shaylie dropped a "Cordell's Corner" reference right away, and I could see the 8th grade dance and yearbook signing vividly as Maura retold the story. When each individual student walked across, I had memories of little moments or assignments you had done. Ryan Elliot's MUNAFL team, Kelsie Martin at the 8th grade speakeasy, David Guizar doing hilarious monologues on camera, all these little things that usually get pushed to the side by "bigger memories" were triggered in an instant by hearing your names. But it turns out the ceremony itself was nothing close to the mental and emotional trip of everything afterward. Walking to the field in front of the building, I spied Dr. McCarthy by the gym doors. He had so much praise for how the class handled the last year and a quarter of your K-12 careers. Make no mistake about it, that's not how anyone envisions their junior and senior years, and of course you handled it with grace. We talked about how the school will miss you all and how much you've accomplished. What I didn't realize was we were standing right in the path of everyone's exit from the building and all of a sudden I was surrounded.
This is where I need to apologize, because from that moment to the time I left, there were far too many people to talk to, far too little time, and far too many things I wanted to say, wished I could say, or needed to say to fit it all in. Selfishly, I wish they could have just let me "Feeny" for a day, which is how Mrs. Lowrey and I always referred to the desire to keep teaching you every year like Mr. Feeny in Boy Meets World. There were some conversations I'm very thankful for, like following up with Cam after 3 years of feeling like I hung him out to dry when he didn't realize I was moving until the last week of school, or the last convo with PK and Kade where we became the last men standing on the field by a good 20 minutes (and probably made PK late for lunch? Sorry). I didn't get to everyone though, and I apologize. It was never realistic to see everyone or hear from everyone at an event so short in time and with so many other friends and family around, and so many places to get to afterward. But the big takeaway from that time on the field was simultaneously the most joyful and most devastating. I moved three years ago, but you all stayed in one spot. When I came to Turner for the homecoming game the next year, you were all there in one spot. When I came to graduation, you were all there in one spot. Now it's all changing. You are all branching off into so many wonderful paths to do so many wonderful things. As I started keeping track of all the things you'd be doing and places you'd be going within a year, it dawned on me. This was truly the end of the line and it would never be the same. It's like the feeling after the 8th grade dance and yearbook signing, except, you know, for real this time. By the fall, some of you will be building houses, some will be learning to be electricians, some will be in California, Illinois, Missouri, New York, or wherever the Air Force decides to put you, not to mention Platteville, Whitewater, Madison, Milwaukee and Oshkosh. It's natural, and in this day and age you can stay connected to each other more than ever before, but it was very final and sudden to me. As I drove home pondering this, the tears began to stream. Bawling while blogging might be over, but crying while commuting might be its replacement. To be fair, they were happy tears. I've loved working with you and seeing you all grow and mature beyond my class and beyond the middle school. I'm done babbling, I promise. I'll just leave it with a congratulations, good luck, and the world doesn't comprehend what you're about to bring to it yet. Go do amazing things, love you all!
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AuthorJohn Honish: Archives
June 2021
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