“Senioritis” was supposed to be the disease you worried about as the calendar turned to spring.
“Social distancing” was supposed to wait until summer when you ghosted fake friends and cried with real ones.
Spring was meant to be a giddy and nostalgic checklist of “lasts”: Last prom, last quarter of high school, last time to fill out a tournament bracket and sneak views of the early games in class. Now you wonder if you’ve seen the last of high school and worry if you’ll be the first class to graduate without a commencement.
The only “first” should have been not having to take the state tests and lording over that fact to all the other students. The unknown was supposed to wait until summer dreams met autumn reality, not stare you in the face every waking moment.
You know your worries and frustrations pale in comparison with what so many are dealing with around the nation and the world—but this was supposed to be your time, your season, your spotlight.
Full disclosure: I am often sick of seniors by the time your last day of class rolls around in May (in the same lovingly exasperated way many of you are no doubt sick of me).
This year I pray that’s the only sickness any of us have to deal with and I hope we can be sick of each other together.