A Eulogy for the Elementary School Campus

We are gathered today to honor the powerful life of the Old Elementary School Campus. Though today we can only peer through the demolition barricades at what little remains of her, she once stood firmly, towering over our little selves. 

I first met her in 2013, when I was just five years old. My pigtails were draped over the straps of my Barney backpack as I hesitantly walked into Rainbow Angelfish, where I met my first SAS friends. Within her colorfully decorated walls, I learned how to tie my shoelaces, spell “whale” (which did take many more attempts than I’d like to admit), and perfect the art of whispering softly enough not to get caught during dreaded daily nap times.  

She made some days feel like the highly-anticipated Gamelan days in Mr. Anderson’s music classes, but others felt like the ridiculously egg-y egg sandwich I couldn’t quite stomach the first time the Old Elementary School Campus cooked for me. I’ve had some pretty tough times with her, too. She let me tumble uncontrollably down the rooftop playground stairs, barehandedly squish cat poop (most likely Garfield’s…) while playing in the sand pit, and get my first-ever “Progressing” in fifth-grade art for rapping Post Malone every class out loud with absolutely no shame.

But of course, my story with her is merely one among the countless lives she has shaped. After hearing the news of her tragic demolition, I reached out to others who once walked through her blue doors to ask them what they remembered. 

One friend of hers, Margareta, recalled a third-grade classroom economic system, where each student earned their own class “money” and traded it for various prizes. Under the guidance of Old Elementary School Campus, she first understood the fundamental value of saving and spending. Now that she plans to pursue a career in business and economics, she realizes Old Elementary School Campus was the very first one to spark that interest. 

But not every encounter was so scholarly.

“After a swimming lesson in fourth grade PE, a boy in my class literally threw his underwear over the wall into the girls’ changing room,” she said, still giggling about it. 

Another friend of Old Elementary School Campus, Ashley, traced back her memories to the iconic spiderweb playground. Every recess and lunch, the “spiderweb” bustled with countless shouting 8-year-olds scrambling over the thick ropes, itching to get to the very top. For Ashley, reaching the summit was her ultimate dream. After months of getting stuck halfway through, a friend taught her how to get there, little by little, step by step. By the end of recess, she found herself ecstatic, having conquered the seemingly impossible feat of getting to the top. 

Whether it was gifting us a dream to pursue, a funny story to remember and chuckle about even eight years later, or our first taste of the joy of overcoming fear, she continuously shaped the moments that powerfully influenced who are are today. 

Throughout my time at SAS, what I most looked forward to was Old Elementary School Campus being there for the end of my 13-year-long journey. I’ve always envisioned myself in a graduation cap and gown, walking (probably while also crying) through her halls I’ve grown up in. I imagined circling the spiderweb playground that taught me the power of struggle and persistence, or returning to the classrooms where I first learned the powerful skill of reading, softly tracing my tiny fingers across each page. Her absence will be deeply felt by all of us, as we walk through her “Re-Imagined” self. Now, though her physical form may not be present, we carry pieces of her with us through the version of ourselves that we’ve become, thanks to her.