The End of School
During yesterday's covered dish picnic dinner, I suddenly sighed with relief. The end-of-school deadlines were over. Report cards had gone out, the graduation ceremony and following celebration party was history, the speeches from each staff member and the awards earned had been duly delivered and applauded, and best of all, our principal's wife had safely delivered a baby girl two days before, and they were hidden away at their home one quarter of a mile down the road from school.
Once before, more than 25 years ago, the principal I taught under was absent on the day of the picnic. His wife gave birth to their first children that day--twin girls. Our principal's two other children were born on the first day of the second semester of his college career, and on the first day of a school year in which he was teaching. A grandmother from church whose husband used to teach told me that she went into labor right after they got home from the last day picnic one year. Another child was born very shortly after school closed two years earlier.
What is it with teachers? It must be that all of life for teachers is divided into segments called "school" and "summer" and important life events must be fitted in before or after those segments--or precisely in the middle.
In 2004, the principal I was teaching under called me at home on a November Sunday afternoon to tell me that he was talking to Miriam on the phone and looking at Miriam in his home. "A baby Miriam?" I squealed. Indeed. For that timing departure from the teacher norm, the name choice compensated very nicely.
On my way home from the picnic yesterday I stopped in to see and hold tiny Maya Linn Schmucker. When I left, her father, Andrew, our principal, was holding her, looking more relaxed than I've seen him for days. Because of the urgent events of the past few days, he wasn't as free as he would have liked to be to concentrate on the really important things, and now, finally, the urgent and the important could both be tended to in his own home.
Once before, more than 25 years ago, the principal I taught under was absent on the day of the picnic. His wife gave birth to their first children that day--twin girls. Our principal's two other children were born on the first day of the second semester of his college career, and on the first day of a school year in which he was teaching. A grandmother from church whose husband used to teach told me that she went into labor right after they got home from the last day picnic one year. Another child was born very shortly after school closed two years earlier.
What is it with teachers? It must be that all of life for teachers is divided into segments called "school" and "summer" and important life events must be fitted in before or after those segments--or precisely in the middle.
In 2004, the principal I was teaching under called me at home on a November Sunday afternoon to tell me that he was talking to Miriam on the phone and looking at Miriam in his home. "A baby Miriam?" I squealed. Indeed. For that timing departure from the teacher norm, the name choice compensated very nicely.
On my way home from the picnic yesterday I stopped in to see and hold tiny Maya Linn Schmucker. When I left, her father, Andrew, our principal, was holding her, looking more relaxed than I've seen him for days. Because of the urgent events of the past few days, he wasn't as free as he would have liked to be to concentrate on the really important things, and now, finally, the urgent and the important could both be tended to in his own home.
posted by Mrs. I at
8:39 PM
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