As a child, I remember waiting, with great anticipation, the last day of school. The wait until that day was exaggerated by “the last day countdown” which always seemed to stall before finally dipping into the single digits. It generally consisted of going to school for an hour to get my report card and then riding home on a school bus full of over joyous hooligans. I remember enthusiastically throwing open the back door and running down the yard to play. Two months of freedom with nothing more than lightning bugs and evening rounds of ‘Kick the Can” ahead of me.
As a teacher, May always flew by and June arrived in a flurry of paperwork. End of the year activities flooded the schedule and an occasional movie was popped in to keep the kids entertained. There was not enough time left to correctly pack up my things and clean the room. At the last minute, things were thrown into the closet haphazardly, and keys were handed over in a flurry as the staff merrily walked out the door. Calm awaited me once home with two months ahead of me that begged not to be scheduled.
The end of the school year always brings back a wave of memories. It’s a special time and everyone’s got some memory of one year or another, but it’s the idea of having the whole summer free that is the driving force behind the excitement. The whole summer.
Ahh, the poor French kids: they don’t get out until July 5th. That’s right, July 5th, after the 4th of July; after the sparklers and bottle rockets and one more special night to stay up late. It’s the hurdle that brings us into the second part of summer; the part where some people start to think summer is almost over. Today is June 15th; American kids are running through sprinklers, chasing after the ice cream truck, and taking swimming lesson. Some kids have been out already for an entire week!
July 5th is three weeks away, three long weeks. I’m so glad I’m not a French kid.
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