Worst Day

Worst Day

 

On most days teaching sixth graders was very rewarding, however, there were those days . . . I used to tell fellow teachers, “ You gotta love ‘em, because no one else does, not even their parents. Hormones erupting like volcanoes!” I’d declare with a snappy smirk. “I can always tell the day they turned twelve,” I’d brag. Generally, Sept. until Dec. they were a delight. But after Christmas they would resurface as seventh graders. Consequently, it was a long, long way until that glorious last school day in June. My thoughts would wander to the poem by James Russell Lowell, “And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days …”

I digress. Worst day. Oh, so many choices that I could choose.

Early morning bus duty — shivering out in the bone-chilling Ohio cold, watching a bunch klutzy kids bang into each other– that might top the list.

No wait a minute, lunch duty was a sight and sound to behold. Obnoxious concoctions stirred together to intentionally get each other sick. Then there was the belching contests and my stern warnings (never heeded) until it required whistle blowing and detention slip threats.

Of course, you haven’t lived until 25 or so sixth graders stampede back from gym class, disturbing your peaceful planning period, reeking like a garbage can. The only relieve would be to open the windows on a frigid Feb. day in Ohio (the choices being, freeze to death or pass out from the stench.) Most of the time, I’d pick the former, and then go grab my coat.

Not to forget that recess was a headache. Twenty minutes standing out in either the very cold or very hot weather being banged by bouncing balls, watching kids brutally abuse and bully each other, breaking up fights, and praying that no one got hurt on my watch. And that was on a good day!

But the very worst day of all was when all the stars lined up and I had all these duties on the same day.

Now, sipping my morning coffee from my lanai, gazing into my gorgeous pool, I realize that retirement isn’t so bad.