I was happy because I remember the involvement and encouragement from my parents to work hard, try harder, and work even harder to get ahead. My parents were pretty awesome.  The grade was not the issue… my “best” was the issue.  Knowing I had not given my best in math (I think)  when I was in the 8th grade, I changed an interim grade report card from a “D” to a “B” using my pencil to replicate a dot matrix printer on carbon paper.  I was successful.  (Sorry Mom… I know this will be a revelation for you)  I worked harder and had my “A”… a real  “A” before the end of the year.  I had great parents.  As I remembered their encouragement my heart was happy today.

I was sad to see so many little girls working so hard to look so much older.  Sixth grade was elementary school from my memories.  Wasn’t elementary school a time for children to get sweaty at recess and come inside stinking of wet heat?  Wasn’t elementary school a time for children to explore the world from the large eyes of amazement?  Wasn’t elementary school a time for children to remain children just a moment longer?  Today, it was clearly the beginning of childhood innocence voted out in exchange for children who knew their most photogenic side, best static pose, the most flattering position of the leg, the hippest resting place for the hand and the brightest smile… all coming together in a grand self revelation to be preserved among the thousands of pictures taken of each practiced performer.  This made my heart sad.

But what made my heart the most sad was when student after student (many of whom seemingly barely made it out of the sixth grade) awkwardly walked across the stage, paused for a photo and slipped off the stage into, what seemed like, more comfortable anonymity.  For the students who gave the year their best and still barely made it out… My heart is happy for their best.  But for the student who barely made it out of the sixth grade with their best buried deep inside themselves… my heart was sad.

My heart was sad for them because something more oppressive was upon their little lives.  Something was keeping their best, their greatest of potential held captive.  Some of these children did not get the privilege of giving their best to school and learning because they had to reserve their best to simply cope with life.  Their best was used up, beaten up, abused by simply trying to get through each day, each night and make it to school each morning.  For some, their best was depleted simply trying to make it through the circumstances of life in which they have been thrust (not by their own choices nor decisions).  This made my heart sad.