Personal Graduation Ceremonies

Some of you may get tired of how much I brag about my school. but you are just going to have to indulge me today because, while I loved GRACE Christian from the moment I started working there, I've never been more proud to work there than I am right now.  I'm not going to do justice to this day because there aren't enough words to do so, but I have to try.

When I left the school on March 19 to begin teaching from home, there were three women in our office making contingency plans for the possibility of a non-traditonal graduation.  Whether that would be virtual or socially distanced or in the parking lot, we did not yet know.  (At that time, we still dreamed it was possible we would be able to return to a regular ceremony.)  As the stay at home orders were extended, the work of these ladies became plans, and the plans were expanded and changed into realities.

In normal years, one of our senior traditions is a senior dinner, in which every student is spoken about by a teacher who has signed up to share about their character.  I've written about this event before, and it is my favorite night of the year (more so, even, than graduation).  While our graduation is lovely, the dinner is so personal that it represents our school mission and vision statements in a tangible way.  

As we prepared ourselves for an end to the year, there were three events we still hoped to have.  Yearbook distribution, the senior dinner, and graduation.  In teacher meetings and parent surveys, there was one thing that was evident; no one wanted these to be virtual.  Our virtual awards night was great, but it isn't the way you want to graduate or have a senior dinner.  (The yearbook distribution couldn't be virtual of course and happened in the way I described in last week's closure post.)  

Our school gave each of our fifty-seven seniors a personal graduation.  Students signed up for a time slot and came to the school with their parents and siblings.  Because there are fifty-seven of them and a few small breaks were planned, this event took from nine in the morning until almost seven in the evening.

Students arrived in their cap and gown. Their parents were given a box that held their diploma, any awards they had won, gifts or notes some of the teachers had given, a jump drive with the graduation slideshow, a plaque with three character traits the teachers suggested printed on it, and a Bible with their name engraved and messages from their teachers (another tradition we did online and printed for their Bibles).  They were led to the front.  The graduate then walked down the aisle to Pomp and Circumstance (for about four seconds because it doesn't take long for one person to get down the aisle of our chapel) and stood at the front.  

Our principal opened each ceremony in prayer and announced awards.  The parents presented the student with their awards from the box.  She also read the character traits, and the teacher who signed up to speak about them came to the stage to give the same speech they would have given at the dinner.  The parents then gave their senior their diploma, and they walked across the stage, turning their tassel at the center.  This was all streamed on Facebook Live so friends and family could watch even though they couldn't attend.  Since I was only allowed to be in the room for the three I was speaking for, I stayed glued to that feed for most of the day.

After their ceremony, they stepped into the hall, where the teacher who had spoken about them and our Christian Life Director prayed for them.  They proceeded to the cafeteria for photographs.  It took half the building to have everything properly distanced, but it worked.  It just worked.  

GRACE has a three-word mantra that has arisen in addition to our mission and vision statements.  We talk often about how much we want our students to feel that they are known, valued, and loved.  When we went into the virtual environment, we talked often about ways we could still make students feel known, valued, and loved.  At the end of the day on Friday, I believe there were fifty-seven seniors (and their families) who felt known by the teachers who spoke and submitted character traits and "wrote" in their Bibles.  I believe there were fifty-seven seniors who felt valued by the people who spent eleven hours filming, photographing, praying, and speaking for their personal graduation ceremonies.  I believe there were fifty-seven seniors who knew they were loved by everyone in their school, but more importantly by their Creator.

Do You See What I (Don't) See?

Friday night, my school carried out one of its greatest traditions - our senior dinner.  One of the special things about working in a school with a graduating class of sixty is that we have the opportunity to make this event very personal.  Each student is talked about by a teacher, who has signed up to talk about them (sometimes having to fight for them with another teacher who also wants to) and shares stories about their character.  We know, love, and value our students' and their character, and this is a great night to showcase that.

There are many things that I love about this event, but there is one thing that strikes me every year.  The kid who pushes my buttons is someone else's favorite person.  Every year, I find myself listening to a speech and saying to myself, "I would never have thought that."  I find that students I have only known from the hallway (because I didn't get the opportunity to teach them) are different than I imagined.  I hear stories that make me think, "Wow, I wish I had gotten the chance to know her."  The stories we tell about our experiences with kids are inevitably revelations to other teachers

This night reminds me every year why every student needs a team of teachers, not just one.  If a student only had me, there would be some who would not be reached well.  The history teacher may see something that the English teacher doesn't.  The yearbook advisor or art teacher may have the opportunity to find a gift that doesn't show up in math.  The math and English teachers may have the chance to observe a student's perseverance in a way that others can't.  Each of us gets to see something the others might not. 

When we finish this night each year, we hope that each parent in the room knows that their child is loved and appreciated by at least one teacher.  We hope that each student in the room knows there is at least one teacher who knows them and sees who they are.  That's what we want for our students and parents.  What I hope for the teachers in the room is for us to see how much we are all needed.  You see what I cannot, and vice versa.