I have always regretted I wasn’t in a gang.  I played high school football which in high school hallways is practically a gang, but not the real thing.

I think from time to time about getting a teaching gang together.  Roam the streets late at night (and by that I mean as late as 9 or so) chastising young people that are not either at home or on their way to the library.

What trips me up is what types of jackets to wear.  But certainly they would be leather!

Few things are funnier than when one of my seniors says that they can’t wait to get out of school and that “there is no way to explain it you!”  First look around.  The teachers that don’t already have their Gilligan hats on for their summer on the boat are looking at travel magazines with longing looks heretofore reserved for e-mails about early retirement benefits.

I love the job.  There is nothing else I have ever wanted to do other than teach children with special needs, but to get that “last day” of school at age 57 is just mind blowing.  It’s not the same as at the age of 7 or 14, but its as close as you can get 5 decades after doing it as a kid.  While admittedly I am never going to make a fraction of the money a southpaw with a 96 mph fastball will make…..I get the summer off and he has to work.