End-of-the-Year Report

Yesterday, Daniel performed in the closing ceremonies for the morning kindergarten program at his school.  Technically, school goes on for another week and a half, but this was the formal celebration of the end of the year.  The program began with a concert, for all three kindergarten classes, in the activities room, and then the children and family-members from each class proceeded to their respective classrooms for individual ceremonies and receptions, much the way that Harvard commencement begins with a university-wide gathering in Harvard Yard, but then the "community" breaks up into faculty/department-specific smaller ceremonies across campus.

At the general commencement, after a few words from the school director and the requisite pledge of allegiance, the children sang six songs, with significant arm-choreography to accentuate particular words, and of course Daniel did a good job.  Aside from "You're a Grand Old Flag," and "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" [which had "Red Sox" properly inserted in place of "home team," to the fondness and gratification of many present], most of the other songs were themed around I'm-growing-and-I'm-beautiful-and-watch-me-as-I-walk-the-walk-of-life.  I told Daniel afterwards that they sang the songs very well, and that they were nice songs, but he instantly shook his head, and went on to inform me that the only song that he liked was "You're A Grand Old Flag."  Daniel, while very consciously anti-sentimental, is nevertheless quite a patriot, and he loves anything having to do with the flag.  Since we don't do a great deal of flag-wavin' at home, it's safe to assume that this is a solid part of Daniel's unique identity, taking on solid form at a very early age.

Mrs. Joyce gave a small speech at the opening of the classroom ceremony, not-so-successfully fighting back tears.  The other person crying in the audience that early on, of course, was Amy.  Then came the musical slide-show, covering the apple picking outing, 100th Day, the Christmas party, etc.  Each child had a small portfolio lined up, consisting of several folders - art work, handwriting, and the like, but the most dramatic item was a thin yellow folder which had, for each child, a self-portrait from the beginning of the year on the left side, and an end-of-the-year self-portrait on the right side.  The transformation in self-portrayal, for Daniel - and probably everybody else - was quite dramatic.  And to intensify things further, the "surprise" in the portfolio, as uncovered by the teacher only later in the gathering, probably to accentuate it, was the fact that, when you lifted each of those self-portraits, you found actual photographs of the child, from the beginning and end of the school year, contrasting a shaggy little Daniel from August/September (badly in need of a haircut) to a beaming little boy, significantly older and more clean-cut, from the last few weeks.

The reception spread included Dunkin "Munchkins" (donut holes), cubes of canteloupe, honeydew melon, and other things, including "brownies, which Madeleine identified as brown" stuff.  

Meanwhile, Ian had a "luau" - a Hawaiian-themed little party, later in the afternoon, which I didn't dare go to, since Daniel's event alone got me into work around 11:45.  Ian had been looking forward to it for some time, but because it's not the only end-of-the-year event, and because there's no "graduation" theme, apparently only a few parents attended - all mothers, including Amy.   As expected, Ian was presented with the Class Bookworm award.  As they were announcing it, according to Amy, he was already celebrating his upcoming distinction, standing in place, dancing back and forth, arms flailing, with a squinting grin facing toward the ceiling, a bit like Snoopy's famous dance-of-joy.  Ian proudly reported his conferral to me this evening, after baseball practice.  

Ian's main end-of-the-year item, which I hope to attend, is the annual "picnic" next Wednesday, which involves parents descending on a cafeteria lunch.  Everyone - students, teachers, parents, the principal - gets a choice of hot-dog or hamburger from the cafeteria, and then eats it outside, on the ground or at little picnic tables, to celebrate the year's successful conclusion.  Last year was my first experience of our town's school lunch program, and suddenly everything made sense.  I remember that in my own youth, the hamburgers at school tasted different from the hamburgers anywhere else, but we didn't know why, and it didn't bother us - we were just happy to have hamburgers.  But when a grownup revisits the school-lunch-hamburger-delta, the distinction between cinderblock cafeteria and outside-world becomes dramatically more pronounced.  Again, you don't mind it - but this time, it's because you get to "go to school" with your child - not so much because you like hamburgers, per se...

Madeleine didn't get any end-of-the-year ceremony this year, apparently because she's in the "three-year-old" class (although she just turned four a few weeks ago), and it's the four-year-old group in the same preschool that is technically the "graduating class" heading toward the foreign shores known as Kindergarten.  But they did have a field trip to a wonderfully hokey-sounding little petting zoo/"farm" known as "The Carriage Shack," a week or two ago, and of course Amy went on that excursion.  I guess when you're three, you get out of school about a month ahead of everyone else.

I pointed out to Amy that the children are growing up very, very quickly.  This observation managed to elicit emotion from her, but not the tears that normally flow freely at any child-related school ritual.  I suppose that not everyone can be calm in face of Daddy's sentimentalism... But it's nice to see the milestones, eat a few cubes of melon, and get a bit misty-eyed at the young'uns dramatic growth and development.

(May/June, 2012)