New Rituals

   School started last week and I vaguely remembered how we all used to gather in front of the office doors and windows where all the new class lists would be posted.  Oh how we would wait so patiently for the school's office manager to begin posting the class lists. Some parent would always drive by and see the process starting, and soon the news would spread through the neighborhood like wildfire. 

Usually there would be no speaking at first.  There was always a blanket of quiet as the families studied the lists trying to find their name. Students might squeal or grimace. Mothers or dads held infants and sometimes straying toddlers' hands tightly. 

   Conversations could start up while leaving the office doors. Casual banter and quick catch ups might ensue at the curb.  Summer topics ranged from detailed vacations,  jaunts to camp, or visits to out-of-state family members. 

   I wonder what substitutes nowadays for what seemed to be a vital part of the "before school" process? This change probably is not noted at all except by those who came before.  I'm guessing a new ritual has taken its' place. 

I hope so.

Canine Subtleties

 

    Anyone  remember Eddie Murphy's bit on SNL, or his stand up routine of the "ice cream man?" I never fail to think of that bit when I'm out on our morning walk with my dog, Lucie. We pass the same house on our walk every morning. Every morning without fail the same ferocious dogs go at us, and bark mercilessly from inside. We can't see them, we can only hear them, and use our wild imaginations.

     Along with that team of dogs barking, comes the accustomed prancing that Lucie will automatically fall into. She only slips into this slight prance when passing said house.  And she only picks up in front of this house, and it stops right at the end of their driveway.  The dogs can't even see her. They can smell her though. They can sense her. And for some reason, it's important to her to let them know that she's outside, and they are not. 

Kids

     This weekend I was lucky enough to sneak away to mountains with a former colleague whom I used to teach with. With officially a year into my retirement she asked me the common query, "Do you miss it?"

   And I told her what I had surprisingly discovered myself about the classroom. I miss THEM.

   I miss their pure unadulterated energy. They are unencumbered, and impulsive.  They speak freely, and there is no filter (not always a good thing) but they are unfalteringly optimistic. I never really knew just how much my students kept my own cynicism at bay.

   Until now.