The room was buzzing with excitement as Principal John Reed took his place next to the stage. Above him and to the left sat 58 chairs perched in tightly curved rows split into two sections right down the middle. He was actually surprised they had all fit, but there they were.
Maybe it was silly to pack the kids into such a small area, especially considering the continued growth the school experienced each year, but there was something about placing them up there in front of their friends and family. The students loved it, he could tell. Every year, he saw it in their faces.
Besides, the stage got very little use, as far as stages go. There was a play once a year, of course, so that made it useful for a weekend or two. And there were the occasional school assemblies, but he often preferred to stand in front of the stage, level with the teachers and students. The last thing he wanted to do was tower over the student body like some kind of pompous dictator. Never mind the rumors to the contrary.
No, for the most part, the humble platform and red velvet curtain served as a backdrop for auctions and science fairs, pizza parties and detentions, in-services and study halls. And every day between 11:30 and 1:30 it oversaw that most popular of school-wide activities: lunch. After all, the room was, for all intents and purposes, a cafeteria.
And today it was buzzing.
Families were still trickling in the door and taking their seats. Parents poured over their programs in search of their child’s name. Older kids chatted idly as their younger siblings gasped and pointed at the twisting balloons brightening up the stage in brilliant reds and golds.
A group of sixth and seventh graders seated directly in front of the stage clutched their instruments as the noise began to die down. John checked his watch. 7:08. He caught Karl’s eye and gave a quick nod. The band director lifted his arms, whispered a few final words of encouragement to his students, and the program began.
Every parent turned their head as the students began their proud, solemn march toward the stage to the familiar strains of “Pomp and Circumstance.” The teachers lining the front rows turned as well, some with bright smiles, others with lingering signs of exhaustion, but all with a sense of contented relief.
It was an important day for everyone. For the parents, it was a symbol of how much their children had grown. It was one more step toward that all-too-scary reality their babies were headed toward: adulthood. For the teachers, it was another year past, and another group of pupils moving on to their next phase in education. It was many proud successes and a few regrets. And it was the promise of another year, another group, and another chance.
Most of all, it was about the students. And for them, the evening meant something completely different. It was an honor that distinguished them among their peers. It was the anxiety of deep hurts and silly squabbles from the last few years fading away. It was a deliverance from the awkwardness and pain of adolescence. It was proof that they had arrived, and they could get through anything. They had come to this school as children. They would leave as high schoolers.
And that was why John loved this event more than any other he put on. It was an accumulation of everything they had worked toward all year as students, parents and educators. It was a time to celebrate the kids, but also the people who had helped them succeed. They had all had a part to play this year, for better or for worse.
That’s what he wanted to touch on in his speech. He wanted this ceremony to be a time of joy and celebration, but also a time of reflection. He believed in his school and his staff. They had prepared their students as best they could, but the kids still had a long journey ahead of them. Whether they had struggled this past year or not, they would need the love and support of their parents and each other to help them through this next phase of their lives.
He wanted them to see that they were a part of something bigger, a community stretching through the years and miles, teaching them that they all shared the same basic dreams and desires. They all wanted to be respected and loved. They all wanted to make a mark on the world. They all wanted to be successful and happy. Reminding them that they’re not alone, that everyone has a purpose.
The older he got, the more John felt the validity of this truth. He had seen so many students come and go, and teachers too. And no matter what internal or external struggles they went through, they were all driven by the same basic need. They wanted to understand, and to be understood. And when it came right down to it, wasn’t that the point of education?
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