Where I Left my Fire

On June 16th, I traveled to Chicago to see my freshmen (now seniors) graduate, the first graduating class of Mose Vines Preparatory Academy. I loved being at graduation--there's no where else I should have been. I only wish there had been more time to catch up with my former students. It was so brief. How do you re-enter lives after three years? There were lots of hugs and exclamations about the hair: "Ms. E, you cut your hair!" "You look good!"

Some students clearly surprised and yet pleased that I knew who they were. So exciting to watch them cross that stage, so proud of the ones who made it. Girls I left with babies now raising toddlers (and all graduating!). What was starkly missing from that stage, however, were most of the young black men I taught. Of the group of boys who used to spend so much time in my room after school, only one remained. The graduating class was predominantly young women.

Being there made me miss my former students more acutely, miss teaching in Chicago. Made me consider as much as I love California, how much I left behind. It was important for me to be at graduation, to follow through on the promise I made when I left. I love these kids, probably more than they know. Graduation, as much as it was a hello, also felt like a good-bye.