As a kid, you are supposed to be upset when summer is over. There is this great depression that fills your over-worked belly and covers your tanned skin. My chlorinated hair was always the perfect shade of green by August and I knew that meant summer was over. But I was always secretly excited to begin a new year. I would, in my head and aloud, discuss the various scenarios that may play out on the first day of school. I would ultimately either be asked a great question or the teacher would comment on how interesting my name was or see that I was good at something. I would be praised and all the kids would follow. That never happened. I would sit there quietly; the teacher would say my name with a painful normalcy and then mention how the next kid has a name that means warrior in Greek and how cool that is. He'll be her favorite for a while - until he gets too cocky. I won't raise my hand for fear of delivering a wrong answer and the day will go by only to be described as "fine" or "okay" to my parents. Anyway, summer is basically over. I start my new job on Monday and I am away from children for a lovely two weeks at which time I will gain back my love of the little ones and be perfectly ready for them to tear me down again. I do not want to teach small children in my life. I only want to show them painting techniques for very brief stints of time and then leave them to their own devices with no fault of mine.
I can't wait until Christmas break.