Last night was Youngest Son’s last band concert. Every year his high school jazz and concert bands (he plays in both) stage a show at the local performing arts centre (yes, I spelled it the Canadian way for this occasion). It’s always quite an evening, full of song (as in singing), excellent music, and a lot of fun. Every year the graduating students band together (little pun) and buy their teacher a goodbye gift. He’s truly an exemplary teacher. I don’t know how he does it. Year after year, teaching those little cretins. Then picking up his saxophone to play with them in the jazz band. Very cool. In my opinion, it takes a certain sort of soul to become an exemplary teacher, and my hat is off to all of you out there who do it. This teacher has been with my son and most of the other kids graduating this year since grade seven, when he also taught part time at the elementary school to get the kids interested in music. That’s six years of teaching the same kids band. I know Y.S. has grown and developed a lot thanks to this teacher.
So, last night it was finally Y.S.’s turn to be among the band grads. They gave their teacher a podium that one of the students had built in woodwork class, and they’d had all their names engraved on a placque for the base of the podium. And it struck me…the last band concert…a few weeks ago the last band trip (a “Magical Mystery Tour,” where the kids literally did not know where they were traveling until they neared their destination, and we parents did not know where they were going either until after all the students had boarded the bus)…Y.S. is studying for his last few tests…next week my last child graduates high school…the following week he writes his last provincial exam (province-wide standardized tests for university entrance).
It’s hard not to get choked up when you’re faced with a lot of sentimental lasts. Twelve years of school rush by so quickly. It doesn’t seem that long ago when he was attending his first Kindergarten class…walking to school for the first time without me…then the first time without his big brother…then the first this and the first that…well, you know how it goes.
After he graduates, he’ll begin a whole new slew of firsts as the generous, ambitious, hopeful young man he has grown into. But, for now, he’s still my little boy in my eyes, and I’m soaking all the joy I can from the lasts.
My son will go to kindergarten in a year, and I’m scared out of my mind to send him to that big ol’ school all by himself. Even scarier to think that I’ll blink and he’ll be 18…
But keep thinking of all the new firsts coming up. You haven’t lost him yet. Just make sure you don’t let some girl drag him away into marriage and kids and stuff. 😉
Avery, the K-3 years don’t go as fast as 4-7. It’s when they hit grade 4 that time starts to really move. Then your kids hit ages 8 and 10 (if you have two) (or thereabouts) and you wish they could stay those ages forever. Then they enter high school. Where I live that’s grade 8. Time WHIPS by, I think because the teenage years can be so frantic. That’s why, when they graduate high school, it seems like it’s happened so fast.
On the other hand, I and both my kids have survived the teen years (YS turns 18 in August). The very thought of having teenagers used to terrify me.