Congratulations, Class of 2024

When I’m not writing, I’m a teacher’s assistant at a technical high school. I’ve assisted teachers in the health occupations program and in graphic arts. But two years ago, I received a new assignment. To assist the teacher in the HVAC program.

Am I an expert on heating and air conditioning units? Have I ever shown the HVAC students how to braze copper piping? Have I ever demonstrated the proper technique for cutting sheet metal? Crap no! Still, the students accepted me and the helpful things that I could do. For instance: I had the numbers when they forgot their locker combinations. I had loaners when they lost their safety glasses. I won’t say I’ve taken the role of den mother to these guys, but I do have moments when I feel like Wendy, looking after Peter Pan’s lost boys.

I’ve grown to feel great affection for each student in this class. There have even been times when I think the feeling is mutual. Like the time a student offered to give me a puppy (politely declined). Or the time one of them invited me to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. I said, “You know I’m married.” Without missing a beat, he replied, “He can come, but he has to pay his own way.” (Invitation also politely declined)

When the year headed toward a close, I originally considered missing this year’s graduation. As the parent of two houseplants (please don’t ask what happened to the third one🥺), I’m not a fan of sitting in the heat during most festivities. Then, one of the seniors asked if I was coming. How could I say no?

Questionable weather changed our venue from an outdoor stadium to a gym. That meant we had to gather before the ceremony in an auditorium.

To keep everybody in alphabetical order and grouped according to their specific field of study, staff arrived ahead of time and taped each person’s name on the auditorium seats. That way, when the requisite hour arrived, we would rise and proceed down the hallway to the gym in the proper order.

During our slow march through the corridor, we temporarily paused near a restroom. That was when the HVAC student directly behind me whispered that he absolutely, no doubt about it, had to use the facilities. “Then run like the wind,” I whispered back. “We’re starting to move.” And move, we did, to a recording of “Pomp and Circumstance.” By the time my group reached the entrance to the gym, the student who needed the restroom hadn’t returned. We slowly wended our way to our seats. Still no sign of him. I told the second kid in line to leave an empty seat between us to accommodate our missing guy. He finally arrived, last in line. I’m sure nobody noticed when he slipped into our row.

Once properly seated, the ceremony commenced with speeches and award announcements. Since HVAC was the next-to-last program to be called, we watched all the other tech programs take the stage ahead of us.

Each teacher’s assistant got to stand with his/her respective instructor so they, too, could offer congratulations to each student as they crossed the stage with their diploma covers. All went well until we lost count of how many students we had congratulated. The instructor and I started to walk off the stage when I heard a plaintive voice from behind say, “Ms. Supplee.”

I turned back, saw one of our students, and blurted, “We’re not done!” Fortunately, the microphone that recorded sound for the live stream didn’t pick that up. The screenshots did.

When something like that happens, you can either die of embarrassment or laugh about it. Surprisingly, the next day, when I confessed all to several coworkers, none of them knew it happened. Now they will. 🤣

Despite the faux pas at graduation, this year will go down as one of the best.

Happy summer!