Late Night Thoughts With Lu: So, This Is How It Ends

By Mr. Lu

Endings are funny business. Movies run the full gamut, from the tidy and neat to the confusing and sad. In sports, champs revel in glory while the losers ache from how close they were. Schools are an equal mix of these contradictions. With exams and projects and presentations interspersed with lounging and playing spikeball on the front hill to just hanging out and hanging in there. It’s full of everything. Graduates seem to have multiple endings, and it’s kind of baffling which one speaks with finality. Is it the final set of classes? The term end assembly as they are paraded in front of the school? Is sports day the sort of last day of school? 

“I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things,” Frodo says to Sam in Lord of the Rings. The end of school doesn’t quite match the epic nature of the book, but even the book continues on after the line is said.

As formal and ceremonial some of the events are, I think the true endings come in subtler and understated forms. Ways that speak to who we are in the day to day, ways that build us a brick at a time, ways that form the basis of the fondness and recollections of the heart.  

There’s Lucy strutting down the walkway in the art show with a beard, and then tearing off the beard and tossing it to the audience. 

There’s Mattias and Riley carrying the biggest watermelons around. They’re playing a silly game, but it’s fun and it’s a little like a big board game with espionage and betrayal. 

There’s Webber appearing for a picture on my board. He’s been leading board pictures the entire year. And then, for the first time in twenty years, I take a picture of Mr. Peltier. Ever elusive, I feel I’ve documented Bigfoot. But I’ll treasure that picture.

There’s Ben R. and Andrew, showing responsibility by writing a final exam early because they are missing it for a track meet. And when they hand it in, I’m shaking their hands and it feels like everyone is grown up.  Later, Ryder, Ben C., and I are talking about how politicians answer questions, and who knows, maybe there’s a future politician or prime minister here.

There’s Eva making her big thesis defense presentation in front of a crowd. Eva, taking it easy for a chunk of the year, suddenly using big, sophisticated words and sounding like a university graduate student. 

There’s Ranier, ever dependable, taking pictures, drawing whimsical drawings, being cool. Or Sorren just keeping the vibe alive at an event.

There’s Mr. Elmer and Ms. Manning, teaching their final lessons, watching those students leave their rooms one final time. It was so good to share the same school with them.

All these things happened in June, and in some way, these are the things that wave goodbye. These are the things that make the graduation ceremony real and alive, that make it sparkle and special. For packed into the ceremony isn’t just people walking across a stage, it’s people who did things, who said things, who lived things.  

For graduates, that last day is a whirlwind. The weird feeling of putting on the gown and the irritating confusion of settling that board on your head. The nervous anticipation before marching in and the indeterminable wait sitting in the crowd watching awards and speeches. The intense moment of being called up, walking to the middle of the stage and looking out at peers for the last time as friends and family watch while half-listening to Mr. Anthony or Mr. Parker say something delightful. Then in a flash, you’re outside, taking pictures, sharing laughs and talking everyday talk, figuring out where you’re going later, and getting a bite to eat.    

Graduates, I’ve got a friendly suggestion. Take a fleeting second amidst the furor, suck in your breath, and look out at the glorious and majestic mountains and water, the nestling city, the endless blue sky, and think to yourself, “So, this is how it ends.” 

It ends with a stretching hope for a future that is yours to keep and explore and change. It ends with people who love you and who care for you at your side and nearby. It ends with memories that are happy and sad and everything in between that will embed deep within and reappear at odd, unexpected moments. It ends with accomplishments and failures and the unrealized growth and learning along the way. It ends because it has to end, because it was always meant to end this way, because beginnings await on the periphery, ready to be grasped. It ends with a hug and a congratulations, because that’s how it should. 

Let out your breath. Then, go. Fly.

We’re cheering for you. We’re glad you were here with us at the end of these things.    

This is how it ends.