The First, Last Day of School

As long as one is not getting fired or laid off, the last day of work is supposed to be empowering because few things give the all-around satisfaction of quitting a job and moving on to bigger and better things.

I remember quitting my first in corporate America. I walked into my boss's office knowing, for once, I held the trump card. "I'd like to give my 2 weeks notice." It felt like unlocking my own prison cell from within. The useless projects and unending meetings dissolved away. "Well, I'm going to need it in writing," my boss replied, still trying to dominate me. But it didn't work; I slapped down my letter of resignation like a Draw Four card in Uno. I didn't care about burning bridges.

But on Friday, the last day of my first teaching job, I found myself trying build bridges with my now-former boss. The principal and I hugged; surprisingly, it was a real hug, one where our chests actually touched a little bit.

And, oh, the students. They smiled, imbibed with summer ecstasy, but I could only look at them in a eulogistic fashion. Though they are still alive, it felt almost like a funeral because I would never see them again in the same context. The "academic year 2009-2010" versions of themselves died last Friday. I snapped pictures and inhaled the sadness of the moment; is this what birds feel like when the fledglings take off for better pursuits?