Wednesday, while driving home from work, I could see in the distance a police vehicle on the side of the road with its lights on and traffic lined up along the road. I was kicking myself for taking what I thought was a short cut to beat the traffic. I assumed there must be a car accident up ahead.
To my surprise there was not.
Ahead was a celebration.
A parade...in front of Forts Ferry Elementary School in Latham, NY.
Ahead of me was a line of cars covered in balloons and streamers congratulating students.
Normally, anything preventing me from getting home expeditiously would be seen as an annoyance, but I relished witnessing this joyful moment. I went to take out my phone to capture the scene from my car but then realized the police officer directing traffic may not look upon that action with approval.
What I saw were children popping their heads out of sunroofs, parents and grandparents packed into cars, and educators outside, singing, clapping, and dancing.
They had made it. Together.
I found myself quite emotional, and my breath caught in the back of my throat. This end-of-the-year celebration, something quite typical, although not in this exact form, was almost bringing me to tears.
Behind the music, dancing, clapping and socially distanced jubilance was the hardest year ever.
It was brutal.
Unimaginable.
Yet this school community, like so many others, was celebrating.
As this school year ends, people will continue to write about learning loss. They will write about future standardized test scores. They will write about what divides us. They will not write about the pure unadulterated relief, support, care, and love that was being exuded from each and every educator that was out in that parking lot, each car filled with supportive, grateful families and each little face that was beaming with pride for having survived a global pandemic with their teachers by their side each and every day.
The police officer eventually motioned for me to pass and make my way home, but I hated leaving that sweet gathering behind.
I did not know anyone in the parade, but I can tell you this with certainty, there is nothing like the "family" created within a school community.
Nothing.
In a typical year, educators, students, and families go through so many ups and downs. But in a pandemic? They have survived a Category 5 hurricane...one that kept going and going and seemed like it would never end.
Yet through it all they had each other to lean on and to confide in even when they did not think they had anything left in the tank to keep going. The bonds made, even distanced ones, will last a lifetime.
And the exhaustion these educators feel? Well, there are not adequate words to describe how mentally and physically taxing this work has been for them. (Let's hope we all focus on their social and emotional needs as we move forward!)
Those educators in the parking lot?
They will be there again come September, with those big smiles, open arms and huge hearts. Maybe I'll accidentally find myself driving by there to witness that too.
They will welcome another class of students, and they will continue being the backbone of our communities because that, my friends, is what teachers do!
