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Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Your Parting Gift

I have to say that going back to clean out my classroom today was much less of an emotional experience than I had expected. I walked through the door and the school psychologist, who we refer to as "The Good Doctor", cocked his head to the side in true analytical fashion and asked, "How are you?" You know, that leading, gentle psychiatrist question that really means, "Please God tell me you're more fucked up than I am so I can feel better about myself and my Harvard degree." But of course, my ultimately professional response was, "I'm fab. How about you?"

It took me about 15 minutes flat to pack up everything in that room that was mine and schlep it out to my father's minivan (yes, minivan). I peeked my head in the educational director's office to let her know I was leaving and she said, and I quote, "Wow. You look...really happy." DUH.

The only tough part was when the curriculum director came in and handed me this giant piece of construction paper and said, "Here. Your favorite kid made this for you."

Inside was a big long note from my little cop kid, saying he hoped he could see me again and that he would miss me. On the other side of the card he had taped all his army men, his favorites, just for me... And yes, I cried.

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