So after 13
years at our little elementary, it’s the last volunteer thank you brunch.
I was always
looking forward to this, because I knew one day it was going to be MY year, the
year that wrapped everything up for me, where I’d served my kids all these
years at this school, and not just my kids, but everybody’s kids – I had used myself
well here. Our family had run the Santa’s
Workshop every year, and the Book Fair all by ourselves – I bake cookies, and
bread in classrooms not even just my daughter’s class, but other rooms. We
helped run talent shows with the famous Ms. Eick. At easter I bring the bunnies
in to all the classes for kids to pet and see. I once even brought a newborn
goat named Elvis.
So it’s
finally MY YEAR, where I get to sit there and hear them say my name and maybe
they’ll say something like thank god for Julie, she’s been here. She’s done her
time. People are better because of her. The school is richer, the kids are
happier.
I have this
tiny thought in the back of my head, oh, but it’s a new principal. She doesn’t actually
know me too well. But she did see me do the Book Fair at least. Then another little
thought, oh, but now all the teachers have eaten and gone back to their
classrooms, so actually all the people that know me and are grateful to me aren’t
even in the room. I’m in the room with half of Venezuela and the PTA I
abandoned, and one retired tiny voiced teacher I know. I shoulda maybe considered
my Oscar audience here.
So they’re
calling out names and people are getting little paper certificates that say “You’re
an Idiot for Volunteering but Thanks” basically, and three people clap, and
yes, this is how I end my 13 years at Stonehurst. Just like that. 3 people
clap, most people are eating pineapple, and I go back to my seat and that’s the
end.
There’s no
gushing. There’s no crying. I pass the special ed grown up kid who comes to
volunteer with other similar dudes from the adult special ed school up the
street, they come and make copies for the teachers and stuff and he’s always so
happy and he’s holding the same exact paper I have and he’s SO HAPPY, he’s
saying “I have NEVER gotten a certificate for ANYTHING in my life before!!” And
there’s me with the same paper, chagrined, and laughing at myself.
Right before
this lunch, we had seen Lilly’s last dance festival of her life at this school,
where the 5th graders do a dance in shirts they tie dyed themselves,
it’s a tradition to do the Pata Pata dance and wear the tie dye, and I was
videoing it and a tear sliding down my face and then slowly more tears because
this and everything here at this little school has raised me and my kids into
the people we are, 13 years later. I had some curly headed little 5 year old blondes
that became taller blondes, and these were the halls we walked and the gentle people
we knew and the teachers who nurtured us. Growing up up and away. I realized
that it doesn’t matter what piece of paper you get, or who claps for you even
though that’s the way it looks in the movies.
I did Santa’s
Workshop because my kids liked it, and I could sell a lot of things out of my
garage there. And because all kids really like fart putty and who else was
going to get it for them to buy except me. And because little kids brought me
fists of money to buy things for Christmas and they were so excited. I didn’t know
that was my applause because it looked different and sounded different. It
looked a little bit like work, and felt loud and busy. But the moments in the
crowded library, immersed neck deep in kids, that was my applause.
I did
everything because I wanted to do it. I wanted to be a part of it. It grew me this
huge heart as a by product, which doesn’t sound anything like applause. But weirdly, that’s what it is.
So going
into that lunch I didn’t know that I was already a walking award, what did I
need with another award. Another
award would be WEIRD.
So in this
case, I did what any mother would do. I hugged the people who mattered to me. I
felt without really seeing, the familiar walls and trees and classrooms and
kids, all around me. I perused the free buffet and packed a bunch of cookies in
a plastic cup to bring to my kids later. Because they’re always hungry.
I mattered,
I gave, I have happy kids, I got some cookies.
