Spade Days

Most teachers look forward to the last day of school with almost the same level of anticipation as the students. They are eager for the chance to finish calculating grades, store the final evidence of the year's activities, and wrap up the minutiae of the end of the school year. I, however, was not one of those teachers. The last day of school was a special one for me. Every year. I would rush through my end-of-the-year duties in order to enjoy spending that delicious day in the company of my students.

Most students would rush out of the building with a whoop and a holler, glad to be free of the brick walls for the next few months. Not my kids. They would seek me out and settle in for a long game of spades. Why spades? Well, you can chat over spades. You can talk smack over spades. You can laugh over spades. If someone comes in to take their leave for the summer, you can easily put spades on hold in order to chat. I will say this, however. If we did stop to chat, we had to watch Jerome. He would stack a deck, slip a card out, and generally cheat to his advantage. Of course, it didn't bother me quite as much when I was his partner, but we still had to watch.

The first year, I was genuinely surprised that kids showed up for their scheduled "class." No one else had kids coming to their classes! My kids were there! Random collections of students, just hanging out. We played music. We played cards. We ate pizza. After a couple years of this pattern, we remembered. A large part of the ritual of last day spades seemed to involve a reminiscing about the year's events (and it wasn't even my idea!). Brandon and Rodney would show up, and we'd sit around chattin' until someone started dealing the cards. Generally, we'd start playing 3-handed 'cause Brandon would get impatient to win. Rodney would be impatient to talk smack. I'd be impatient to start the laugh fest. Whatever the reason, the chemistry worked. We'd get our fourth player (A-Dub was a likely suspect) and begin playing in earnest. Eventually, we'd end up with a peanut gallery of folks watching, advising, cheering on favorites.

We basically had a party. Roosevelt would wander in, closely followed by Lil Ric (who now prefers "Rico," but I can't quite bring myself to call him that) and Deon. Basheer would flit in and out, usually trailed by underclassmen or a random girl or two. When Bobby chose to show up, I always knew the festivities would be turned up a notch; Bobby has a young person's body but an old person's soul.

What I think I loved most was that, for those brief hours, I was valued as one of the crew. I wasn't just a teacher; I was appreciated for what I contributed to the fun of the group. And, I felt I'd earned the chance to just hang out and enjoy my students as people. Even the students I thought I knew pretty well would reveal new facets to their personality in those final hours. I took those revelations as precious gifts, unconsciously offered, and I cherish them still.