I saved my last personal day to attend today’s 8th grade graduation, which was held at Back of the Yards College Prep High School, and I’m so glad I did. It was wonderful to see this group, whose elementary years were altered in more ways than we could have imagined by the pandemic, finally take off the masks, collectively exhale, and celebrate themselves. Many of them, I think, have been holding onto lots of emotion during these years. But when the ceremony concluded with the graduates taking a rose to someone in the crowd who had been there for them, stood by them, loved them through it all, the tears flowed.
For me, it was also a reunion of sorts, as I was able to reconnect with dozens of former students and families who I’ve known throughout my time in the neighborhood. With many I only had time to hug or snap a quick photo, but with others I was able to have a brief chat. One of the first people I saw in the crowd was a woman I’d taught in 1995-96 who has gone on to a distinguished career in the Army. Another former student, who is a rising senior at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, told me she’d recently written a paper about intergenerational differences in Mexican American communities that may be published. Another just finished her first year at Northern Illinois and is pursuing a degree in computer animation—something she got to experiment with a bit in our after-school media club years ago.
Just to be clear—I’m not taking credit for any of this. That goes mostly to the families. Besides, my colleagues could tell similar stories. It’s always a collective effort in schools, and this year I’ve been a relatively minor player with the eighth graders. But what I felt today, more than anything, was how lucky I’ve been to be part of this school community for so long. It’s a cliche, I know, but I can’t think of any truer way to say it: I’ve received far more than I’ve given.
Bit late but thank you for showing up to our graduation :)