End Times

My brilliant and eccentric student W weeks ago promised to bring a strawberry rhubarb pie “on Monday.” On the following Monday, when I asked him about it, he said, “I didn’t say which Monday.”

As it turned out, our last day of school materialized this past Friday. He walked into my room with something in his hand, but as I looked at it, I realized that it was no pie.

“Here, Mr. Jacobs,” he said, bringing it to me. It was an aluminum foil helmet, held together by black duct tape. Outcropping from the helmet were a paper plume, a braided orange dreadlock, a blade or flag or something, a chin strap (again, aluminum foil and black duct tape), several curly alpaca locks in different colors, and, on the back, a baggie (“Contents: Hair-free head”) to which were attached several homemade buttons, including one stating that “Children are the only thing on Earth you can take with you to Heaven.” The sign on the front says, “Mr. Jacobs’ Teaching Crown of Ninja.”

It was a hot day, so I could only wear in for short spells, but I put it on every time I went out in the hallway. One secretary said, “That is beautiful.”

In honor of it being the last day, I gave a small “concert” for “interested” students (the rest could go outside and play in the steamingly hot sun). One girl kept pestering me: “Write a song about me!” Another one chimed in, “No, write one about me, just me!”

“Let me think,” I said, and sang another song or two until I found an angry country song that I wrote long ago called “Cold, Cold Heart.” I sang that for them in a very angry, growling sort of voice. They seemed satisfied, if put-out in a good-natured way.

Aside from the teary goodbyes (and yes, there were many, many end-of-the-year tears, shed even by tough boys who were reassured by their female counterparts that “real men cry”) and the teaching crown, a student gave me a really nice goodbye note (click on it to make it large enough to read).

(The “lifesize Llama” she refers to was a huge picture she helped to draw to help advertise our spring festival booth, where students could donate towards buying a llama for Heifer International. She drew a little “llamamometer” on it to keep track of the money, which turned out to be enough for nearly 1.5 llamas.)

At the end of the day, I put on my crown, gathered up my guitar, and stuffed the note into my pocket, and headed home, happy about summer and emotionally exhausted, both.

And far from disappointed, too. Strawberry rhubarb pie? I can make one of those myself.