The End of School as We Know It.

Hands down, Mr. Dave Gehrke was my favorite school teacher. He taught pottery, and I took two years of it in high school.

I was an average potter. Probably below average. But I loved the class, loved the relationship I shared with this teacher.

It was this teacher who encouraged me to keep playing tennis even when I wanted to throw it all away.

It was this teacher who encouraged me to go off to Chicago, even though most would stay close by.

It was this teacher who shocked friends and classmates by appearing at my high school open house.

It was this teacher who then visited me in Chicago, kept in touch and had me over for dinner and evening desserts on many occasions.

It was this teacher who read scripture at my wedding and this teacher who laughed jollily at the birth of H.

Mr. Gehrke retired the year I graduated. He was ready. He'd worked in the district 30 plus years, coached football for years even dabbling in hockey at times. It was not only time but he was diagnosed with Parkinson's. Another disease I now hate.

He was a tough cookie with a genuine, oh so genuine heart that I loved.

I remember crossing the stage at commencement, shaking the principals hand and as I walked down the steps I spotted Mr. Gehrke amidst my classmates. And as I walked past the row he sat in, he got up shakily and gave me a hug.

And I cried.

Because while I was more than ready to get out of school and on to bigger and better things, I knew it was all going to change.

You know how it goes as you pass the yearbooks around. Promises to stay friends forever, that nothing, no distance, no life changes will change the memories and bond you share.

"BFF"

"Keep in touch..."

And while there may be many people who are successful at such things, I was not. From time to time I talk to friends from high school, but it's not like it was.

And that's ok.

Hugging Mr. Gehrke as I walked back to my seat with my classmates, I knew that no matter what, it wasn't going to be the same.

It is that experience alone, and my entire relationship with Mr. Gehrke that helped me understand Miss M today.

Today was M's last day of kindergarten. I expected an excited little girl to bound down the hallway with a big grin.

Instead, as M approached, she grabbed my hand and said, "My heart is 'beeping' so fast."

And as I started to congratulate her on finishing her kindergarten year, the tears started coming.

They didn't subside quickly.

She'll miss her teacher.

M and Mrs. Ryan at the kindergarten program last week.

She'll miss her friends.
She'll miss school.
She doesn't want it to end quite yet.

I was proud, yet sad for her. Because I knew what she was feeling. She doesn't want anything to change and she loves this teacher.

Her teacher was wonderful, truly caring and so sensitive. She made each student feel that they are special not only in her eyes but in everyones eyes.

She taught them about responsibility in a way that I am amazed.

She loved on those kids as if they were her own.

M and Mrs. Ryan at the kindergarten concert in April.

They had a great year, and while M is excited for summer and all that comes with it. She is also sad and broken over the prospect of change.

We went back and M hugged her teacher one last time. And just watching Mrs. Ryan cry as she hugged crying M, was almost enough to send me into tears.

But it will be ok, and next year she'll have a new teacher and a new experience but right now, she can't imagine it any other way than how it's been.

M, how you've changed.

T, on the other hand, will most likely walk off the bus and scream in celebration!

I can almost hear him reciting... 'No more pencils, no more books. No more teachers dirty looks.'

Both reactions to the end of school are equally good in my eyes.

First day of school. September 5, 2006

Last day of school. May 31, 2007.

Happy last day of kindergarten, M.

Happy last day of 2nd grade, T.