Ticking Down

Wednesday, June 7, 1995

Time is definitely ticking down. I'm in the Professional Room, for once sharing it, as Tish Lindquist, wonder secretary types in the Graduation Program. Two senior girls, Beth--a former Drama student--and Erica--a present 4--have just left the room, having finished a little bull session. Beth is now teasingly adamant on calling me by my first name. The end of the year is here.

And with it news.

John Lead is off to M.O., supposedly to teach three sections of English 2, plus 2 Honors and Yearbook. Not bad for a transfer. Jack Harrelson, who brought this news, also told me that John wanted me to know that there are other openings available there. He's looking after me, to be sure. No, thanks. When June heard of John's departure, she instantly put in dibs for the two of us to split his sections of English 4. The machinations begin.

Today, we killed off God's Country in a rushed three-day read. I didn't rush it because we were running out of time. I wanted to hit the play hard, not discuss it to death, and let its ideas hit the class at full speed. It worked. The class was filled with discussion of global proportions at the end. I used the opportunity to tell them that now, and for the rest of their lives, they need to think before they act, not merely because of the repercussions their actions will have on their own lives, but because of their influence on younger generations. Children are listening, I said, concluding my discussion of how sometimes one can say one thing (I'm not a racist) but act another (tell racist jokes), and how these hypocrisies condition children to do the same. I think the class got it.

We're minutes away from Academic Detention, the last of the year. The kids don't know it, but those who attend will receive extra credit, for merely putting in the effort to better their grades. I'll make that announcement tomorrow in class. That should cause some conversation.

After A.D., it's home and Chez Walters. Jane and her husband David have been living the nomadic existence since last Friday, when they moved out of their apartment. They'll be up north next fall, he at optometry school at Berkeley and she teaching (if she finally gets a position), but before that they're off to Africa for a six-week safari. So they're staying with friends and staffers for a night here, two there, to save a full month's rent at the apartment. Pizza, a little vino, and maybe a laserdisc. Could be fun, if Lisa and I aren't too exhausted/stressed.

Tomorrow is the memorial service for Grandpa. Lisa has decided to read her poem. She had strained for weeks, attempting to write this piece. And it finally came the week before Grandpa passed away. In fact, she was able to read it to him on his last good day. And tomorrow, she will share it with his friends. I think it will be a great testament to him, and probably a good way for his loss to sink in on her, who I still believe hasn't come to grips with it fully yet.

Friday (the final one, YEA!) is the luncheon, a crowded weekend follows (Dave Jones’ art opening, Medea on campus, Kyle's b-day bash), and then we're down to the last week (which will include a meeting with Lisa's superintendent and a Hollywood producer concerning a possible CD-ROM publication).

Tick Tock.

Can't wait.