Back To School

Just as geese flying south is a harbinger of autumn’s arrival, store ads filled with notebooks and laptops signal the end of summer vacation. Scenes of little midgelings splashing around in the local pools will soon be replaced by toes reaching for the sky on the swings of school playgrounds. The lazy hazy days of summertime will be sharpening into a crisper, more structured schedule with the coolness of a new season. 

I would be lying if I said I was completely ready to embrace my back to school schedule. I will certainly miss the undulating sweetness of a slower summer pace. I will miss the time spent catching up with family and friends. I will miss the delightful moments spent leisurely browsing and selecting new books each week at the library. My garden will lose its daily tending and will be left to the laws of nature. The dust bunnies will roam free again as I look the other way in their presence. My husband will miss the regular meals and a shorter to-do list.

But, alas, it is time to get back in the saddle and herd a few cats, a.k.a. middle schoolers. My job is not for the faint of heart. It takes nerves of steel and a strong sense of humor. Hormones course through the halls with a vengeance. Growth spurts change voices and clothing sizes overnight. Parents have a deer in the headlights look as they navigate their way through the obstacle course called early adolescence. Mothers bewilderingly watch their sweet, once dependent children, walk quickly ahead of them, now afraid to be seen with a doting parental unit. Girls whisper secrets and boys punch and jostle about. The cafeteria is a little bit of lunch served with a large helping of pent up energy.

So, why do I teach middle school? One word: anticipation. Each day greets me with an abundance of hope. Despite the ongoing angst and insecurities inherent within the life of an adolescent, there is always an underlying optimism that things will get better. Diamonds emerge from chunks of rock. Butterflies emerge from ugly cocoons. Nourishing rivers come from snow encased mountains. Productive adults come from gangly, apprehensive teenagers.

Each new school year tells me it is time to put on my rose colored glasses and don my Pollyanna cap.  Time to breathe the air of amazement. Time to step back onto the hamster wheel of doing.

Time to teach.