In last week’s article I wrote about “firsts” in life. Also important in life are the “lasts”.
The Scripture records in Matthew 20:16 (KJV): “So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called, but few chosen.” I have over the years attended many meetings and church services. When presenters at meetings or preachers during sermons utter the word “finally” or another similar expression, it seems to have an effect on the audience or congregation. It seems if not another word in the entire presentation excited interest, that one word or expression indicating the end is near breathes new life into a weary group.
There are many lasts in life, some joyful, others sad, some a bittersweet mixture. What is joyful to one is sad or bittersweet to others. I take this opportunity to share a few of the lasts in my life.
The first thing that comes to my mind is the last college class I was required to attend. It was in the doctoral program at Lincoln Memorial University’s Cedar Bluff campus, and the instructor was Dr. Reginald High. It simply required a written review of an educational article. I knew going into this class that it would be the last college class I would ever have to attend as a student, and though it was significant, I don’t recall the exact date, and I might not even be able to take you to the exact room, though I can see it in my mind.
I did, however, take note of my feelings. Would I have a lump in my throat? Would I cry? Would I be overjoyed? Laugh uncontrollably? Surprisingly, like so many life events, no whistles sounded, there was no ticker-tape parade, the session just passed quietly into normal life. I remember feeling some weariness and a great sense of relief that never would I have to pass that way again.
I recall my final graduation, held at the Tex Turner Arena on LMU’s main campus in Harrogate. As it was my fourth formal graduation, it did not hold quite the excitement that the high school and first college graduations held. There was that same weariness and sense of relief that I had persevered to finish, but again, no blinding lights, no angel choirs raising their banners. Life flowed on.
I knew from a child that I wanted to be a teacher. Accordingly, I watched every move my teachers made, taking note of their every classroom activity. It is for this reason that I can remember so many things that my classmates never recall when I talk to them. Interestingly, as important as school has been to my life, I find it difficult to remember my last day of elementary school and high school.
I do remember the last day I was in Florence Chesney’s third grade. One other student and I received perfect attendance awards. In those days, perfect attendance was not awarded until the actual last day of school. If a student failed to be present on the last day, even if present for every single day prior, the award was not given. The two of us had to go to Principal Charles H. Lynch, Jr.’s office to have our certificate signed. I remember being scared to go to the office, a place I had never been before. In my mind, only those students who needed punishment ever went to see the principal.
I remember the final awards day at Maynardville Elementary School when I was in seventh grade. The entire sixth and seventh grades (the only grades in the school that changed classes) were gathered with their teachers in the gym. I don’t recall if there were parents or other visitors present. I do remember one of the three sixth grade homerooms singing a song that had in its lyrics “We plan to hang the principal tomorrow at the school” sung to the tune “Yankee Doodle”.
I remember my high school graduation. The Class of 1983 was expected to walk in line with a class member of the opposite sex. I thought, “Who can I ask?” I walked with Linda Barnes, a friend I’d known since our elementary school days, a very sweet girl that I felt comfortable enough to approach.
We gathered the morning of graduation on the football field for rehearsal. I remember Principal Joseph Franklin Day telling us very sternly that as we walked across the stage (which was a decorated flatbed tractor trailer belonging to L. D. Monroe) we would receive an empty diploma cover. He told us that if we wanted what went inside that cover that we would conduct ourselves properly, he could and would withhold our diploma for inappropriate behavior. Was he bluffing? None of us wanted to find out. The only breach in decorum I remember is that Keith Hill and Christy Smith (who were walking together) got a little confused and went the wrong way at one point.
My high school graduation was beautiful. I have never seen any other graduation, mine or any other, that I thought was prettier. I have always been partial to sunsets, and the stage was arranged so that the sun was setting behind the platform just as we were finishing. We were all so young—the world with all its possibilities was in front of us. It was a sense of accomplishment and completion to be through with being a high school student forever, but it was sad knowing that some of the people I’d seen so often during the past four years I’d never see in this life again. Sadly, that has proven to be true.
I also remember the last Christmas gift my sister Anna Mae gave me. She gave it to me sometime in November 2010. I asked her why she was giving it to me so early, and she replied, “I want you to have it now.” Perhaps she had a premonition, for she passed away on Christmas Eve, the day of the year she seemed to have always enjoyed the most.
I also remember the last Christmas gift my brother Jerry gave me. It was a ceramic Indian in a headdress mounted on a wooden platform. We had agreed previously not to exchange gifts that year. For that reason, I didn’t have anything to give him, and it seemed to make him mad. Jerry passed away the following June.
Lastly, I close by telling you that there are many more “lasts” about which I could write, but I will save them for the future. I leave you with what I hope might be a “lasting” thoughts from my world of email.

The following question and answer was featured
on “The Hollywood Squares” several years ago.

Q. True or False, a pea can last as long as 5,000 years.
A. George Gobel (an elderly celebrity): Boy, it sure seems that way sometimes.