School is but weeks away from being over. And like every other year, this divides our faculty into two camps.
The first is the camp of faculty members who are counting the days until summer, a time when there will be no work, no assignments, no students and no kids smoking weed in the halls. (I threw that last one in because I just walked through a cloud of sensie bud to get back to my classroom. It’s Friday, lunchtime, and a few students seem to have already started the weekend. However, to be fair to my school, I am sure there are kids in Oakland, Miami, Portland and Peoria who took a hit of weed on campus today — rich or poor, black, white, brown or green, it doesn’t matter. Teens smoke pot on America’s middle and high school campuses all across the nation and folks who don’t think it’s happening their backyard remind me of the line in Casablanca when the police captain is, “Shocked. Shocked to find out there is gambling going on here.”)
Anyway, I literally had a teacher inform me in the restroom earlier today as to the exact amount of teaching days left until we were “free”.
I just faked a smile.
Why a fake smile? Because for me, there’s a sense of, “WAIT!” I have too much more to do. There’s this I still want to do and that I still need to teach and this I was hoping to tackle and that I have a great idea for. That’s the second camp: the folks who feel threatened by the lack of time left to really make manifest all the bubbly aspirations we held for this school year way back at the start of the first week of the school year.
Yet, time is is almost cruelly democratic in that no matter which camp you are in, the clock ticks the same for all of us.