Pack it up. Pack it in.

Let me begin. I came to rhyme. Battle me? That's a sin.

Today was the last day I was able to share these House of Pain lyrics with the fifth graders. It sort of became a tradition of mine throughout the school year to start laying down my mad rapping skills as they gathered their books, papers, and assignments at the of the day. They probably didn't notice. Heck, I'm not sure if I even noticed until I found myself doing it for the last time this year.

Tomorrow I'll return to school. I'll put cumulative grades in student files. I'll disconnect my Smart-board. I'll throw sheets over all of my bookcases. I'll take all of the textbooks that I finally know how to use, packing them away in a forest-colored Rubber-maid that will serve as my only connection to my school this summer. I'll remember to feed our class fish, Walter, just as I remember that he's already in a student's home for the summer. And I'll miss him. I'll worry about what I'm going to do with my plants. I'll throw away papers I thought I might need again. I'll gather band supplies, still unsure how I'm going to teach 21 band students in junior high next year.

I'll miss Walter some more.

I'll realize that missing Walter isn't really about missing Walter. It's about missing the fifth grade. It's about missing how every day of the week they would ask if they could have Friday candy. It's about them frantically noticing that I'm looking at the clock, counting the seconds of my time they were wasting, changing their behavior even though I never took away recess time. It's about how they remarked on how great it was to have young teachers when I (lamely) made them raise the roof.

And I will miss them, even for the three months I'm away. I'll miss the fifth graders and how seriously they took their silliness. I'll miss the seventh graders and how seriously they took their seriousness. I'll miss the eighth graders and how they always reacted appropriately to my jokes and comments. And the sixth grade... I'll even miss the sixth grade and how they always made sure I started class at least 5 minutes late (on a good day.)

I thought I'd have some type of intellectual or worldly wisdom to share with you as I ended my first year of teaching. But tonight... tonight I only having pining and mix CD's. I'm happy. I feel good. I think I made it through my first year of teaching as well as I could have, maybe even plus a little. And I'm thankful. After hearing sob story after sob story of how difficult many of my colleagues' first years were, I can't help but be thankful. My year is happy memories. My year is moment after moment of support and love and understanding. And maybe in a few weeks, after more time of reflection, I'll have some type of wisdom to share. But not tonight. Tonight my wisdom's all dried up.

As I went down in the river to pray...

Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the starry crown
Good Lord, show me the way.

Maybe it's something about the flowering dogwoods or the way the night air seems stilted and endless, but I'm drawn back to one year ago. I was graduating. I was anticipating. I was life. And now, ending my first year of teaching. I feel the exact same. Even though I know exactly what next year hold for me, I can't help but feel like I'm on the edge of my life, about to leap into the unknown.

I know that for the last nine months I've kept telling myself that it's too soon to think about what comes next, but it's not. I can't help but think about what comes next. When the other teachers at my school ask me if I'll come back for a third year, I can't help but stew over the next few years of my life. I'm not sure yet. But I know that I need to start thinking about it. I need to start planning. As much as I want to and need to stay in the moment, I have to think ahead.

As I spoke last week with a good friend who went into a program similar to Magis, I couldn't help but be thankful I applied to Magis. He teaches in Florida. I'm sure I would have loved living somewhere else for two years. I hope to one day spend some time outside of Nebraska. But I'm thankful I'm in Nebraska now. I'm thankful that the work I'm doing feels close to home. I'm thankful that teaching at this school feels like cultivating my future as well. Nebraska is home. I'm quite certain that will never change. I think I could joyously explore the rest of the world and still never feel the same comfort and happiness I feel when I'm here.

We have 12 days of school left. It's hard to believe. So many things are hard to believe.