The day after Labor Day, and this morning on my walk I took the street by the local school (for years I've avoided it--citing noise as my excuse). Lunch pails banged against summertime bruised knees, and girls with bows in their hair posed with backpacks in front of entrances. I rubbed my belly, hoping not to look insane but instead expectant.
In a few hours, I'll be back in my own classroom. I'll be sipping my big ole tea and trying to get everyone's names right from the beginning. I'll probably wave my arms in the air and barely refrain from standing on the chair and shouting. There's something I love so much about teaching. It makes me feel alive and aware and free, and it gives me the liberty to portray my passion for writing in a way that I don't always feel comfortable doing in the ordinary world.
Heck, maybe it's the captive audience, or maybe it's because they're only eighteen or nineteen, or maybe I feel validated because I'm actually getting paid. Maybe it's nothing more than the slight sugar high from the single square of dark chocolate I eat before entering the room. Whatever it is, I love the feeling. I'm a sucker for the first day of school. It makes me giddy and full of hope; it makes me spit-shine my shoes and put cucumbers on my eyes and sing little songs.
Today's assignment: In a single beautifully constructed sentence tell us what you did this summer. Have at it. If they can do it, you can do it.
6 comments:
The fact that I have known you from the age of 18 or 19 is crazy for me to think you teach kids that age!! AGH! Way cool. :)
I'd so take your class.
I raised a newborn and dealt with the antics of a 3 yr old all summer. Trips to Tahoe, San Diego and Santa Cruz made for some fabulous family memories AND photos!!
Rt starts preschool tomorrow. EEK!
i mastered the art of the tuba fart and read too many books on pregnancy.
I left teaching to be a lab rat and then I read this and missed teaching. Thanks.
This first well-earned summer off from teaching, I used my teaching money to visit everybody who taught me about the word love in its many variations, across counties, states, oceans, and Brooklyn area lines.
From when I took your class, I remember the single, beautifully constructed sentence about my summer had to be sixty words long...
Suri dear, I think it was sixty-five words! Details, details. I miss you in class this year. As for you, my brother, get back to academia. We've got too many stuffed shirts here; we need you to liven things up.
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