This is my second back-to-school as a retired public educator. At my wife's urging, I put in one year past my pension eligible 30 years of service and 55 years of age. One final year spent soaking it all up in the only school in the only district I ever worked in: the last teacher orientation, the last room set-up, the last first day, the last back-to school night, the last picture day, the last Halloween parade, the last holiday party, the last assembly, the last parent-teacher conference, the last field day, the last last day. One year of closure. I haven't been back.
I'm still in schools, but it's not the same. More a hired gun. If I miss anything it's the sense of family you build with your colleagues, with your students, with the wider school community. That's what 31 years in the same school will do. So I miss that. That, and all the noise. The commotion and the hubbub you get from 400-plus kids and 80-plus full and part-time staff together in a brick building not too far from Exit 9 off the New Jersey Turnpike.
I want you to know I'm thinking about you all.
So for everyone going back, in this season of going back, I wish you a school year filled with curiosity, wonder, and human connection. Stay safe.
Across the open mouth of the tent Nick fixed cheesecloth to keep out mosquitoes. He crawled inside under the mosquito bar with various things from the pack to put at the head of the bed under the slant of the canvas. Inside the tent the light came through the brown canvas. It smelled pleasantly of canvas. Already there was something mysterious and homelike. Nick was happy as he crawled inside the tent. He had not been unhappy all day. This was different though. Now things were done. There had been this to do. Now it was done. It had been a hard trip. He was very tired. That was done. He had made his camp. He was settled. Nothing could touch him. It was a good place to camp. He was there, in the good place. He was in his home where he had made it. Now he was hungry.
Big Two-Hearted River: Part I