Class of '06 in the City of Blinding Lights

In 1974, I remember that I spent my last days at St. Elizabeth's High School in abject boredom and normal teen age confusion. Where was I going? My basketball playing days would be over, for sure. I had been accepted into the University of Delaware, the only school to which I would apply and could afford, and playing college basketball or golf wouldn't be an option there. I had little sense or feeling of my Class, my fellow graduates. After graduation, not many of us headed off to graduation parties or the beach. Neither activity had reached the ritual status for teenagers that they are now. I think I went out back and hit golf balls in the park after graduation ceremonies.

So I look at you with a certain amount of both envy (see above paragraph for my last days of high school) and satisfaction as you leave St. Mark's with tears of joy. Why's that?

Let me explain.

For the last few weeks (months?) senioritis spread like a good rumor and infected even some of the "best of the best" with malaise, ennui, cynicism, whining, tardiness, selfishness, excuse-making, event and fun & game planning (all the ones I hate, Bernz), and a general tendency to blame everything on St. Mark's.

Maybe as a result of that, today I didn't quite feel in the mood for giving you a proper send-off, just went about my business and handed back folders and "term papers turned in fifteen years late (Schoolsville)." I didn't have any speeches written, poems penned, or slide shows set to inspirational music. Instead, when I saw your tired eyes, I decided to let some of you dream away or quietly talk during your last 45 minutes of English class. Or look on the board at some old photos of your class from four years ago.

Then I just listened. Sometimes that's the best thing a teacher can do. I felt myself nodding my head in approval, listening to your sleepy comments as you mumbled things you wouldn't have even whispered to your best friend a few weeks ago.

"Last night was awesome. We hung out as a class, stayed up all night, went outside at sunrise and celebrated Mass. Then Mr. Freund cooked us pancakes."
"Yeah, I am tired, but it was worth it."
"I can't believe that it's over."
"I love my school."
"I'll always come back to visit."
"My class is great. This is one of the best classes in St. Mark's history."
"Not one arrest all year!" (my favorite, but I'm checking the veracity).

The effect all of this had on me was startling, illuminating, as the singer exclaims in U2's City of Blinding Lights. Right before me, the flashes were popping with Hollywood paparazzi precision. You were all eager ninth graders again, like the images I had projected on the white board, smiling for the cameras with your braces and buddies and boundless energy. At that point I knew the power of youth, of friendships, of faith, of hope, of dreamers, of those in the Class of 2006 who believe in these things.

The Fountain of Youth from which most teachers drink is filled with the optimism and energy of their young charges. That's what keeps us young and handsome (cough). As I was about to nod off and close the books on another year, you offered another draught.

I drank deeply. And suddenly I was Bono, screaming out to twenty thousand strong in Madison Square Garden concert:

"Oh you look so beautiful tonight
Oh you look so beautiful tonight
Oh you look so beautiful tonight
In the city of blinding lights"

Proud to be a teacher of the Class of 2006 at St. Mark's.

Thanks for a great year. Have a safe summer.

Schoolsville is officially closed for the season. Come back to see me "quizzing the chandelier and reprimanding the air" next year, if I'm still at this gig.