"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes..."

Friday night I had the privilege of watching my junior class from last year graduate. There is something especially touching about attending a high school graduation knowing that you taught and fostered some sort of relationship (not all of them, but most of them for the better) with every young person who walked across that stage. You find you have a lot invested in witnessing that rite of passage. It was a bittersweet graduation for me. I didn't regret having left education to further my own, but I realized that never again will I hear a valedictorian refer to an experience in my class in her speech.  That was what happened on Friday night. A high school graduate has thirteen years (including kindergarten) upon which to reflect and she chose to reference the day I read Dr. Seuss to each one of my classes. As a teacher, I always had so much I wanted to tell my students--not about literature, but about life. And a few years ago, when we first started getting all bogged down and riled up about testing and all that entails, I decided to let Dr. Seuss do the talking for me. Afterall, when I am most afraid and confused, his words speak comfort into my life. And as I sat at graduation listening to Kaylee speak the good Doctor's magical words, tears trickled down my cheeks because I remembered reading those same words to them the year before. And I hoped they were thinking about that day as she spoke. And I hoped that they knew (even the ones who acted like it was the dumbest thing I had ever done in class) that I read those words to them because even though they thought they didn't need them, they would need them someday and I cared enough to plant them in their memories.

That graduation made me think of the things I would go back and tell them if I could. You know, like the importance of a few a good friends and well chosen words. The importance of taking chances, putting on your game face, but letting yourself be silly. Of standing up for someone or something because no one else will.  Of loving yourself, really loving yourself and knowing your worth is not in popularity, grades, touchdowns, putdowns, or putting out. Of being strong, but knowing when to be soft. Of respecting yourself and other people. Of knowing your limits, and setting boundaries, but setting your sights high. Of making tracks, but knowing how to be still. Of knowing how truly good you have it, but that the really good stuff is yet to come. Those are the things I would tell them--that I wish I could have told my own angry, insecure, and too often sad eighteen year old self when I thought I knew it all, but didn't know enough to live in the moment.