Senior Moment No. 9: DONE!

     Today I heard the words I've been waiting to hear all year from my graduating senior:  "I just wrote my last essay for Mrs. Simmons!"  Just kidding.  Of course, every parent is waiting for that moment when her child's name is called and he receives his diploma and a handshake from the school principal.  That moment will arrive on Sunday.

     But today is still a day for celebration.  It was Greg's absolute last day of high school classes.  The rest of the week will be filled with celebrations, awards ceremonies, and graduation practice, but today is the first step across the threshold.

     I think I remember my own "last day of high school" better than I do the graduation ceremony or any other graduation activities.  It was the most liberating feeling, walking out the front door of the school, knowing that it was the last time I would walk through those doors as a student.  Like Greg did today when he arrived "home from school" for the last time, I felt like high-fiving everyone.  That is, until I opened my flute case and found it empty!  A frantic phone call to the school alerted the band director to the alleged theft.  Within minutes he called back to say that he had found my flute -- hidden at the very back of a deep shelf in the instrument storage room.  My euphoria at leaving school for the last time was short-lived, as I returned to the building to collect my flute.

     To this day, I have no idea who took my flute out of its case and hid it in the deepest recesses of the shelves in the storage room.  Was it a prank?  Did the thief hide the flute, planning to return for it later?  I'll never know.  But the event cast a pall on my otherwise perfect "last day."  Moreover, it left a bad taste in my mouth about high school in general.  Not hard to do -- I didn't enjoy high school.  I mostly viewed it as something to be merely tolerated on my way to something better.  My high school years began promisingly at Patton Jr. High School, Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas.  I had the great fortune to spend 6th through 9th grade in one of the best school districts in the country.  Even better, it was populated by military kids like me; I had no difficulty fitting in.  Unfortunately, things went downhill from there.
     I spent one miserable year at Leavenworth High School, where I discovered an undercurrent of hostility against Army brats.  In the insulated environment of Ft. Leavenworth (basically a self-sustaining small town), I had been blissfully unaware of this phenomenon.  Sophomore year, it smacked me in the face.  As if it weren't obvious enough by the disdainful looks, this negative attitude toward "brats" was confirmed by an anonymous editorial condemning the military lifestyle and characterizing military dependents as a bunch of snobs.  It was a relief, then, to move to Kansas City.
     The downside, though, was enrolling in my third school (make that third high school) in as many years.  My dad left the Army and joined a private optometry practice in Kansas City, Kansas.  My last two years of high school were spent at Washington High, where I made only a handful of friends.  Most of the kids had known each other since kindergarten; by the time I got to know people, we were graduating.  I've never been to a high school class reunion, and I have no intention of ever attending one.  Mostly, I have only a vague memory of my last two years of high school (no, I wasn't drunk or on drugs!).  I felt like I was in a holding pattern; I had no real connection to the place or the people.  The very few times I have actually encountered anyone from my graduating class, I honestly couldn't remember them.  Their faces and names didn't register.  Why torture myself (and others) staring blankly at name tags, trying desperately to place them?  Besides, I'd probably spend the entire reunion wondering which one of them stole my flute on the last day of school!
     I think Greg has had a better high school experience than I did.  Still, he's had his share of disappointments, and he's ready to move on.  He doesn't romanticize high school; he understands that the best is yet to come.  He's been telling us all year that he can't wait to move on to the next phase of his life.  As of today, one foot is out the door.  Ah, that lighter-than-air, carefree feeling! If only I could put it into words.  Well, I think "I just wrote my last essay for Mrs. Simmons!" says it all.  Don't you?  
         

    

I'ma Steal Your Thunder

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9d8S_9PZ56M

     I've been "kanye'd!"  Remember last fall when Kanye West rudely interrupted Taylor Swift's acceptance speech at the MTV Awards, effectively stealing her spotlight?  (Click the link above to view the video).  Well, a similar thing happened to me last week, only my "Kanye" moment occurred via email, not cable television.

     I emailed a notice about an upcoming concert to a group of musicians.  Shortly after the email went out, I received a response from one of the recipients.  The sender hit 'reply all.'  "An embarrassment of riches!" began the message, which went on to advertise the sender's own concert . . . scheduled at the same time as mine.  The sender obviously realized the two concerts coincided and attempted to cover up her faux pas by "facetiously" making note of that fact and then inviting the other recipients to call her while she was in town.  Hmm.  I don't think facetious is quite the right word to describe this situation.  Let's see -- I sent an announcement/invitation about a concert to a group of musician friends; one of the recipients used my email group to promote her own competing concert.  What do you think, Miss Manners?

     Gentle Reader:  It was most certainly rude, but that's not the half of it.  By clicking 'reply all,' thereby using your email group (can't she create her own?), she in effect made you her private (unpaid) secretary.  In the future, you might consider sending out concert notices by way of the U.S. Postal Service.

     Of course, anyone who reads Miss Manners's column knows that she frowns upon sending any sort of invitation by email.  Still, she acknowledges that email has become the most efficient (if not polite) form of communication, and the rules of etiquette still apply.  
     How about another opinion?  What say you, Dear Abby? 
     Dear Kanye'd:  Well, I always say that no one can take advantage of you without your permission.  However, this seems to be one of those rare instances in which someone did take advantage of you without your permission!  My advice is to simply eliminate her from all future mailings.
     I'm sure that some of my audience thinks I'm overreacting and I should just let it go.  So somebody stole my thunder -- what does it matter?  Well, for one thing, I'm not the only one who took offense.  I received feedback from three other recipients of both my original message and the piggyback response.  One recipient emailed me privately with the following subject line:  "Did you just get trumped?"  All agreed that the sender was out of line. 
     Secondly, there's no excuse for rudeness.  People choose to be rude; exhibiting rude behavior does not happen by accident.  Unfortunately, we live in a time when rude behavior is increasing.  We live in a country where shouting insults, vulgarity, and name-calling are becoming the norm in public discourse.  Kanye West didn't just wander on stage at the MTV Awards, stumble upon the microphone in Taylor Swift's hand, and randomly express his opinion that Beyonce should have won the "Best Video" award.  He made a conscious decision to trump Taylor's moment and make it his own.  In much the same way, my facetious colleague made a conscious decision to use my email group to further her own agenda.  A few months ago, another colleague made a conscious decision to "non-invite" my husband to a brunch with other musicians (again, by email) by announcing to all of the recipients of the message that she didn't invite him because she didn't think he would want to come.  What would Miss Manners say to that?
     Everything we need to know about how to get along with others we learned in kindergarten.  I'm assuming, of course, that all of the aforementioned people attended kindergarten.  Even if they didn't, it doesn't take a D.M.A. to know the basic rules of civility:  Always say "please" and "thank you." Don't interrupt. Wait your turn.  Respect others' personal space.  Ask permission before you use your friends' stuff.  You can't invite just one person in the class to your birthday party, you must invite the entire class; to do otherwise is impolite. 
     Manners matter. There is another facet to the Kanye West-Taylor Swift debacle.  Beyonce Knowles, the singer whose video was the subject of Kanye's spotlight-stealing rant, showed real class later in the show when she took the stage to accept an award.  Instead of using her time to give her own acceptance speech (as she was entitled to do), Beyonce called Taylor to the stage and selflessly yielded the microphone to Taylor so she could complete her interrupted speech.  If you ask me, the world would be a much nicer place if we had more Beyonces and fewer Kanyes.  
     Every one of the musicians who received my emailed concert announcement is a teacher.  Included in that announcement was a request:  "Please pass this announcement along to your students."  Perhaps I should have added:  "And please set a good example for your students!"  I'm a teacher, too.  That's why I can't just let this incident pass without comment.  There's an often-used saying these days:  Be the change you want to see in the world.  Be a Beyonce, not a Kanye.
        
    
    
       

Senior Moment No. 8: Home Stretch!

     Greg walked in the door yesterday after school and announced, "I only have eight more days of school!"  That's eight more days of public school.  Two weeks from tomorrow he will officially graduate, leaving behind the routines that have governed his life for the last thirteen years.  Think about that -- Greg (and the rest of the Class of 2010) has spent most of his life in school.  Seven hours a day, five days a week, nine months of the year.  By my estimation, he has eaten more than 2,000 school lunches.  He went through at least five backpacks; I can't even begin to guess how many pencils or how many sheets of notebook paper.

     Even Greg noted how odd it seems to be coming to the end of an entire stage of life.  Although, truth be told, he checked out weeks ago.  Like all graduating seniors, Greg has been on cruise-control for the entire last quarter of school.  He already has one foot in the door at college, having completed enrollment at Johnson County Community College for this fall.  All that's left to do now is pay tuition.

     And that's it.  Presto -- as one phase of his life is ending, the next is beginning.  It's an almost seamless transition, maybe more so in Greg's case because he isn't leaving home just yet.  He plans to attend JCCC for two years and then transfer to a four-year college, most likely the University of Kansas.  He will be living at home, so it won't be such a huge upheaval.  In our case, Steve and I can expect a delay in "Empty Nest Syndrome."  In the meantime, the graduation announcements have been mailed and a family celebration planned.  All that remains for Greg is finals week, the Senior Picnic, and Commencement itself.  In just two weeks, it will all be over. 

     It's not just Greg who will be moving on.  Since he's our only child, it also means that Steve and I will no longer be directly involved in our child's schooling.  Oh, I'll still have ties to the Olathe school district through my private flute students and my part time position as a tutor in the AVID program.  But it won't be quite the same.  I'll miss the interaction with Greg's teachers; from now on, his progress will be largely between him and his professors -- no more progress reports addressed to "The Parents of Greg Smith."  I'll kind of miss signing field trip permission slips.  Kind of.  I won't miss receiving an email update of Greg's lunch account balance every Thursday.  And, since Greg's earliest class at JCCC will be at 9:00 a.m., I'm looking forward to sleeping a little later before I have to get up and make sure he's awake.  (Look, I'm a realist -- Greg's a sound sleeper in the habit of hitting the snooze button multiple times and then dozing off.  I'm his backup alarm.)

     So.  Eight more days.  (Sigh.)