The Last Day

We were going to have pizza and give out gift certificates. And we may still. But it turns out that the school talent show starts at 4:30. As my girls are in it, there will be no time for pizza. I will fill out their certificates knowing that I may not even see them at all today. Strangely I'm ok with this kind of an anticlimactic finish. Because for most teachers that's how it is every school year, no climactic finale with a pumped-up score, no awards, no immediate glory, no physical pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I always knew it. But now I've lived it. Now it's time to move on.

It no longer matters to me whether or not I'll be missed. It no longer concerns me that so many of my classroom experiments failed. The only thing that matters is that I remember this the next time I'm looking to make a living. The money's never enough and you can never get enough done. This is a way to the salvation of my people. It's just not my way. Out.

I was up early this morning, around seven. My eyes opened on their own. I thought about the big storm that barely hit us last night while Jersey had power outages. All we got on this end were a few fallen trees. But there was the roaring of thunder, the voice of the man all men want to be like, blades of lighting coming down before it, possessed by the winds of chains. I could feel her breath from halfway across the world, the echo of a creamy bassline serenading the walls of a room I have never seen. I love it when Nature shows us what she can do.

It no longer matters to me whether or not I'll be missed. It no longer concerns me that so many of my classroom experiments failed. The only thing that matters is that I remember this the next time I'm looking to make a living. The money's never enough and you can never get enough done. This is a way to the salvation of my people. It's just not my way. Out.