I am enamored of the academic calendar.
It’s no accident that I’m a mother and a teacher and that our family’s days, therefore, are governed by the schools up until a certain bright morning in June when they suddenly are not.
And also, that I’m a writer, so that the rest of my days aren’t governed, exactly, by anything.
Or anyone.
(Which can be problematic, but that’s a different post.)
In spring it is as if there’s a wasp in my heart — so crowded are our days with field trips and events and celebrations.
A piano recital here, a field day there. A class play here, an art exhibit there.
And, throw into the mix all of my own students’ portfolios awaiting my critical eye.
A wasp, I tell you. It’s enough to make a person swoon.
Only in the heat of it, I realize that some of the buzzing isn’t overwhelm.
Some of it’s excitement.
We are almost to those hours of watermelon and bathing suits and playing kick-the-can long past bedtime.
I can smell the sticky sweetness in the air.
And some of it is pride.
That my students created work they didn’t know they had in ’em, and revised it to levels they thought they couldn’t reach.
That the school kids I visited this year all know an author now, and all have made metaphors, and all have made rhyme.
That my daughters negotiated the highs and lows of another grade.
That they have an understanding of liquids and solids, and story arcs, and long division.
That they have friends and teachers over whom they will cry when saying goodbye.
That we, as a family, got the lunches packed and alarms set and forms filled out, pretty close to on time, all year long.
And then some of it is wonder.
At the passing of time.
That I’m not as young as I once was, nor is my husband, nor our friends or colleagues or students.
And, even more stunning, neither are our girls.
It’s a lot to reckon with, which is why summer vacation is a very, very good idea.
In the meantime, a poem.
A poem called Graded Paper by Mark Halliday.
I love this one.
Graded Paper
On the whole this is quite successful work:
your main argument about the poet’s ambivalence–
how he loves the very things he attacks–
is most persuasive and always engaging.
At the same time,
there are spots
where your thinking becomes, for me,
alarmingly opaque, and your syntax seems to jump
backwards through unnecessary hoops,
To read this rest, click here.
Love the poem and all your thoughts!
Thanks, Jama!
TadMack says: 🙂
Oh, I love this one. Freshman year, the last day of English 101, our instructor handed out copies of this poem and I stuck it in between the plastic sheeting of my binder cover. As I graduated and taught school for awhile, it became even funnier and more poignant.
Re: TadMack says: 🙂
What an awesome English teacher!
This is wonderful! I wish someone would repair my use of commas before an editor has to do so. 🙂
Summer vacation is almost here!
Me, too 🙂
brilliant
This time of year kind of makes me wish I were a teacher. Sort of. But then the other day I was temping in an academic department, and I overheard a student defending his thesis in the office next door, and I believe I heard the phrase “deconstructed constructivism” and I doubled over and HOOTED with laughter.
I probably wouldn’t make a good teacher after all.
Thank goodness there are people like you, who can evidently lead your students to greatness while still maintaining your sense of humor.
~eisha
Re: brilliant
Sense of humour — key.
I think you’d make a great teacher, Eisha!
Maybe your next life??
Great ending to that poem. There is that ambiguity in grading – I want to say you should be this or that but then again I like the way you are… Thanks for posting this today.
I know — don’t you love that?
Have a great summer, Liz!
Don, Devas T.
Right back at you, Don!
Seven more days with students.
Grading and report cards are high on the to-do list this weekend. (Great poem!) It is a holiday weekend for others. For me, it is a weekend of delayed gratification.
Seven more days with students, then the Holiday begins!
Wahoo, MaryLee!!!!!