Twenty-two years

This evening, if you listen carefully, you will be able hear the hum of Pomp and Circumstance at the local middle school. Eighth graders are celebrating their graduation tonight, and the evening marks the end of my husband's twenty-second year of teaching. Three of those were spent at a high school on the coast, but the last nineteen years have been spent in room six, teaching eighth graders the English language and American history. Change is always the name of the public education game, and it seems to be coming hand-over-fist these days, but he continues to do a job worth celebrating.

So we lift our glasses to celebrate our favorite teacher of the year, toasting twenty-two years of diligent and enthusiastic labor.

Despite all those rumors of teachers having summers off, there will be a lot of work done this summer. Making the calls on the rec. league basketball court, fixing all the broken fences around the property, and being the Merit Badge Monitor for two Boy Scouts in our midst will be part of it, but his expertise is always welcome around the table, too; I look forward to his company as we finish our family school year.