I always cry on my children’s last day of school. They are quiet tears: quickly-brushed- away-tears, or tears – that – get – stuck – in – the – middle – of – your – throat – tears.

There is something about seeing the teacher coming out of the building with the children he or she has been teaching for the last year that really moves me.

The teachers, too, often look near tears.

When my son was in 1st grade, his teacher, Eve Litwack, was wearing the same floral print dress she wore on the very first day when she was welcoming the children into the class.

That killed me.

Tomorrow I’ll watch my daughter, slightly stooped from her heavy backpack, walk away from her teacher, Ms. Cohen and her classmates – the people that, for the moment, form an important part of her world.

I’m getting teary just thinking about it.

On the last day of school, the children always look a little dazed. Some of them cry, others look scared and uncertain about the future.  They are, of course, tremendously excited to begin summer vacation. Such a mixed blessing this: the end of one thing, the beginning of the next.

After the hugs and the tearful goodbyes, children and parents find out which teacher they have for next year. "Who’d you get?" is a question of great import (the answer is on the last page of the Report Card).

This is a moment of truth. It can mean squeals of delight as children discover that they will be with friends next year. Or it can mean anguished looks of pain and disappointment as a child finds that he or she will not be with a special someone or a group of people she identifies with.

Desperate parents look around asking others: "Is your child in Class __?"

If no-one can be found, the desperation intensifies: "Does anyone know anyone in Class __?"  Sometimes a helpful parent will come up and say: "I think I know someone in Class__." This usually offers some relief.

Walking away from the school on the last day can feel anti-climatic. The emotion of those last moments, the tears, the hugs, the quest to find companions for next year is suddenly replaced with the great expanse of summer vacation.

It’s a snap transition from schoolness to no schoolness and it can feel a little empty, even lonely.

Once home, it helps to read over your child’s report card, to sustain the connection with what you’ve just left behind. In less than an hour, it can all feel pretty far away: the homework, the class trips, the poetry celebrations, the end of year parties, the life that revolves around school.

There is plenty of time to ponder what the summer months will hold. But for those first moments after the good bye, it helps to hold on to the report card, the backpack, the stack of classwork. Like a baby’s security blanket, these transitional objects smooth the way into the next new thing.