As a child, I dreaded returning to school after summer break. Dreaded. This last week of summer was the quickest week of the year and almost stripped of the joy of freedom. Almost. I would push the boundaries of the remaining hours and sleep as little as possible; and yet, the “first day” arrived. That feeling of dread never left me as a teacher. Each new school year began with the sickening feeling that something terminal, unyielding was going to control my life. Now, for the first time since pre-k, 52 years ago, a school year will start and I will not be a part of it. I wonder if this “last week of summer” will finally be a measure of actual time? I'm about to find out.
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