Just like when two fireflies fluoresce.
All kinds of summer thunder shaking down the sky for loose change.
Tomorrow is graduation day. A morning ceremony. These 41 new adolescents I've known nearly as well as family since September are saying goodbye, lifting off into the wind like dandelion spores. High school next, then college. Then brilliant careers.
I spent four days with them last week down by the American River, south fork, camping and rafting down icy white water in the warm sun. Playing tournaments of Speed and playing Beatles songs and keeping a group of young male fartsmiths in check at night; telling a ghost story around the campfire, and later, after the kids were asleep, sharing a Nalgene bottle of illicit white wine with the other teachers and composing awards in a composition book by flickering firelight. Unshaven, sunburnt and mosquito-bit. Crickets at night, and flatulence, and smothered oaths. Stars and legends and confessions, apologies, thanks.
Back from the rafting trip and bangsmack into Genevieve's second birthday, replete with balloons (or, as Evvy pronounces them, "ballleeeuuuns") and cake and little people. She is so frickin' amazing, metamorphosizing so rapidly that four days away from her brings me to total astonishment when I see her next. She is so articulate, so polite and so good-natured. So full of joy and laughter. There is nothing in the world better than being her dad.
Today is Anh's birthday. Happy birthday, Anh!
I am weary, grateful, ready to be done with school for a while. My students, my beloved, difficult, brilliant students, won't stay and shouldn't stay; I let them go every year, and I'm heartbroken and relieved at the same time. Fortunately, my own little girl is close at hand. I haven't seen enough of her this year. I'm going to be staying home for a while, taking her out to the park and the beach and maybe even the zoo. Staying close. Drinking in her beauty.
Tomorrow is graduation day. A morning ceremony. These 41 new adolescents I've known nearly as well as family since September are saying goodbye, lifting off into the wind like dandelion spores. High school next, then college. Then brilliant careers.
I spent four days with them last week down by the American River, south fork, camping and rafting down icy white water in the warm sun. Playing tournaments of Speed and playing Beatles songs and keeping a group of young male fartsmiths in check at night; telling a ghost story around the campfire, and later, after the kids were asleep, sharing a Nalgene bottle of illicit white wine with the other teachers and composing awards in a composition book by flickering firelight. Unshaven, sunburnt and mosquito-bit. Crickets at night, and flatulence, and smothered oaths. Stars and legends and confessions, apologies, thanks.
Back from the rafting trip and bangsmack into Genevieve's second birthday, replete with balloons (or, as Evvy pronounces them, "ballleeeuuuns") and cake and little people. She is so frickin' amazing, metamorphosizing so rapidly that four days away from her brings me to total astonishment when I see her next. She is so articulate, so polite and so good-natured. So full of joy and laughter. There is nothing in the world better than being her dad.
Today is Anh's birthday. Happy birthday, Anh!
I am weary, grateful, ready to be done with school for a while. My students, my beloved, difficult, brilliant students, won't stay and shouldn't stay; I let them go every year, and I'm heartbroken and relieved at the same time. Fortunately, my own little girl is close at hand. I haven't seen enough of her this year. I'm going to be staying home for a while, taking her out to the park and the beach and maybe even the zoo. Staying close. Drinking in her beauty.
hurled forth by Felix Helix | 10:59 PM
1 Comments:
Thanks Yosh!
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