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.