June first.

Let’s all say that together, shall we?

“June first.”

It rolls off the tongue. It shapes air pleasantly. It means that we’re in the home stretch, we who teach around these parts. Seven more class days before finals. With the block schedule that we have, it’s only five more days, at most, of each class.

Teachers are running around like crustaceans after the rock under which they’ve happily hid has been lifted by a curious little kid, who’s come walking down the beach and stumbled upon a tidal pool. The kid bends down, picks up the rock, and marvels at the activity he’s set in motion. The crustaceans, meanwhile, marvel at nothing. They flee.

At work, we crustaceans lament that we haven’t done enough this year, that we’re running out of time. At work, we crustaceans stop just short of wishing for more time to spend with our students. At work, we crustaceans are pretty sure that without us, the little ones will never learn anything and will be doomed to lives darkened by ignorance.

At work, we crustaceans delude ourselves.