"I get that you are not a cool teacher..."

Today was Seth's final day of high school. As I drove around the parent drop-off/pick-up line to use Seth's lunch period to go to the police station and get him fingerprinted for his FBI background check (they apparently don't want criminals coming to Paraguay), I thought to myself, "How many times have I driven around in a drop-off/pick-up line to leave or gather a child? Surely thousands of times. I distinctly remember the line at Centennial Elementary School in Mt. Vernon, Washington. Isaiah and Eli and I would drop Luke and Shulamith off each morning, and we'd all chant in unison, "Bye, Luke! Bye, Shulamith! We love you!" Isaiah would often remind us, "Someday that will be me." Yes, Isaiah, some day it will be. And one day, it was.

That was one school, one of many, in three states, spanning nearly three decades. Many of those drop-off/pick-up lines are a blur at this point, but not the one at Hillcrest High School. That one is up close and personal, and I fought back tears as I picked Seth up this afternoon. What if this is the last time? No. No. It won't be. He has graduation practice tomorrow and Monday, and Isaiah isn't traveling this week, so Seth won't have a car. Whew.

Breathe. Slowly. You've got this. You will survive his final week of high school. Whom am I trying to convince?

You see, back when Isaiah and Eli and I were driving through that line in Mt. Vernon, Seth was still in heaven waiting for a family, for our family. And I didn't even know it. We had four beautiful children, and I thought we were done. Well, Gerald said we were done, and I believed him. I never wanted to be done. When thoughts of a fifth child first entered my mind, I didn't even know if it would be possible or if Gerald would even consider it. But Seth was meant to be with us. He was a gift sent a full seven years behind the others, and oh how precious!

I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that his high school graduation is in just five days. Shulamith's friend Bridget, who is a professional kindergarten teacher, when asked about whether to send kids with summer birthdays to kindergarten or to hold them another year, making them the oldest in their class rather than the youngest, declares (emphatically!): "Hold them. Make them the oldest. Always. No question. No discussion." Bridget, where were you in 2005, when I was struggling with this decision? I sent Seth. I made him the youngest. Now he's 17 and graduating from high school, with a mission call to Paraguay!

And after this week, I won't ever wait in a drop-off/pick-up line again. And yes, this matters. I can't tell you why, but it does.

Okay, so this doesn't turn into a mushy pile of pathos-dripping goop, let's end on a funny note, shall we?

Seth has the worst case of senior-itis I've ever seen. Ever! And that's even counting Isaiah. Apparently, it's a bit of an epidemic at Hillcrest, with tons of seniors making up NGs (no grade) in classes they didn't happen to attend quite often enough. So today Seth tells me he has an A in his automotive class, rounding out the excellent GPA he's managed to achieve this year, despite his acute case of senior-itis. The question is how did he get an A in automotive? Why did he even take that class? He has zero interest fixing cars. My guess is he needed one more class, and all his other requirements were completed, and his friends were taking automotive. Whatever.

Me: Seth, how did you pull off an A in automotive, when you haven't done anything in that class?

Seth: Well, on the last day, my friend and I went in and got help. The teacher is cool, and he helped us do all the completion projects and then gave us full credit for them. Cuz he's cool like that.

Me: What have you been doing during class, when you should have been completing these projects?

Seth: Well, for the past month, the teacher has let my friend and me go to Burger King during class, and he doesn't mark us absent if we promise to bring him back a Gatorade.

Seth could immediately see the outrage on my face. Wait, no. Throughout. My. Entire. Body. But before I had time to formulate a cohesive response to this atrocity, Seth cut in:

"Mom. Mom. I get it. I get that you are not a cool teacher. But if you were a cool teacher, then that'd be cool."