Cut back to:

Twenty-three more school days until summer vacation. Yes, I'm counting. And yes, I'm the teacher. Most people assume teachers weep as we count down the last days of a school year, afraid our delicate students still don't understand the difference between an iamb and a hexameter. However, we often leap behind closed doors when the end is in sight and make vacation plans. We don't like to admit we count; people get the impression we are careless about our instruction, or lazy. That's not the case at all.

We count because summer is one of the few times to do two things simultaneously: rekindle our passions (or second jobs for some) and interact with the adult world. It's like we play grown-up for two and a half months out of the year. We can meet our friends at the bar on Thursday night. We can swear in line at the grocery store. We can forget that we're one of the most influential role models for our students. We reconnect with family and friends. We dust off that book we started reading last summer. We play frisbee with our dogs every day.

This summer, I plan on doing a lot. My school is overzealous when it comes to summer vacations and I know that I will have meetings throughout the summer. However, what excites me is the writing. I get time to write. Not the academic reflecting that my profession demands, or the graduate papers my summer classes will require, but the glorious writing that demands time to listen to characters argue. I can stare at a white wall, zone out, and play with the stories in my head.

Which makes me realize, what am I doing here? I'm going to play with those stories. Oh, wait, I can't. Those 120 research papers need to be graded (it takes me a total of 18 hours to grade those suckers). Calm down, my dear young man, your story is coming. Pieces of it pop up and solve themselves, just keep talking to me during that place between awake and asleep. In that place, I am all ears, and I listen well to your arguments.