Last month, I believe, was my longest, official dry spell here.
This was not the summer I had looked forward to as the dark, short days of the past winter began growing longer and lighter. Not at all. I did not measure it in scooter rides as I did the past few summers since I started riding on two wheels. I measured too much of it in personal heartache and self-pity.
I had planned, as the freedom of summer vacation drew nigh, for three delicious weeks away, free from all concerns, cares, and worries. It was in the middle of the first of those vacation weeks, only days after school let out, when I received the news that I was being reassigned to a different school. It was the biggest kick in the gut of my career and within seconds of hearing of my being moved everything changed in an instant. It was as if the opposite of rose colored glasses fell onto the bridge of my nose. After four years, the school in which I had been serving had finally come to feel like home to me, but now, I was going to be a stranger in a strange land. I sank deep as the words of my new assignment hit me, in spite of being surrounded by as much love in which I could completely immerse myself.
I thought of the work that would lie ahead of me. Thousands of pounds of things would need to pass through my hands, one at a time, as I'd pack up my old classroom and discard things I'd accumulated that I'd decide not to take with me. Boxes and boxes would need to be hand trucked down three floors (Thank God for the elevator!) and down a final flight of stairs to the parking lot where they'd be packed into my daughter's Jeep and then my car. They'd need to be driven miles to the new place, and taken into the building to be unpacked, again, one item at a time. My heart and my head reeled especially during those first days after learning my unwelcome fate. Worst of all, I'd have to tear myself from the love and support in which I was basking, to come back here and begin the move.
You might recall if you pop in here from time to time that I wrote about this move before. I had, though, the whole summer more or less to try to come to terms with it all, and as the time grew closer for me to start up anew I had neither the energy nor the spirit with which to do it. I crawled through the muck of my heavy heart in setting up a new room and trying to draw from within myself the ambition to keep moving. I took scooter rides, but they did little to raise my spirit, never mind inspire me to write anything good about them. I spent my other two weeks away, plus a bonus one of a four days right before going back to school, and during them I did my best to try to stay upbeat. Luckily, when I failed miserably, I was supported and nurtured and given as much good and love that I could possibly hope to feel.
It was when returning to the valley after my third week away that I prayed much of the way that the Neon would make it, without leaving me stranded somewhere along the 240 mile drive. Days later I would part with my beloved Neon, the first car which had ever been wholly and entirely mine, and despite the excitement of picking out its replacement, I dealt with the compounded sadness I was feeling overall.
(And I just realized while talking on the phone during a break here in writing, that what I'm attempting to do is purge myself of some of the melancholy by doing this cathartic writing. If you stay with me there's a funny coming eventually.)
I replaced the Neon with an Impala. I had test driven a Cobalt the day before learning of the Impala's availability, and while it rode nicely and had more seeming power going uphill than the Neon, I looked down at one point to see the knobs of the window cranks and knew that I didn't want it. It would be little more than another Neon with the manual windows and door locks. I wanted something better. And for all the crap I was dealing with in my pathetic heart, I felt I needed it to pick me up. I had the pleasure of taking my last little vacation trip of the summer in it and rejoiced because if I had looked to get the Neon fixed instead of replacing it, I might not have been able to make the trip at all.
It was on this trip that the funny thing happened. Okay, it was funny in one sense, but somewhat horrifying in its circumstances. I was at a mall with my companion and her daughter. We'd been to a movie and one of us had filled up on buttered popcorn. Suddenly, the lovely lady at my side turned a little green (or maybe it just looked like that to me) and started running toward the bathroom. When she stopped dead in her tracks and her look of alarm turned to one of being mortified, I knew that the worst possible eventuality had happened. I walked behind her as she walked as fast as she could to the ladies' room, and when we parted ways I knew that my assignment was going to be to get her a new pair of panties.
I went off to Macy's with her daughter in tow. Now, mind you, with two daughters of my own, and many trips to the register with girly things of all sorts through the years, there'd be no horror on my part in making such a purchase. In fact, I secretly relished the oddity of being a fifty something year old guy with a full beard who'd be taking a pair of panties to the check-out, and while the girl with me would help me select the undies her mom needed, there was no way that I was going to deprive myself of the fun of presenting them to the cashier. It took us a while to find a suitable pair of drawers because there seems to be some great need for panties to come in millions of varieties. Every time I thought I found the ones that would fit the bill I'd hear something like, "Oh, no! They're silk. She hates silk," or see that they were in multi-packs when all that we needed was a single pair. Just when I was about to give up hope we found the right ones. Off to the check-out!
Now, anybody who's ever been to a store with me knows that I immensely enjoy giving the counter help a little grief when they start with the stupid questions that their corporate marketing monkeys think are such a great idea with which to waste their customers' time. Before she could even get to the usual mindless ones such as, "Do you have a Macy's charge?" and "Would you like to open one?" she made the mistake of telling me that I could save a few bucks if I bought three pairs of panties instead of just the one. When I rolled my eyes and replied in a tone of shocked surprise, "Do I really look like I'm here for a bargain?" she was, to her credit, smart enough to just shut up and ring up the underwear. It was a shining moment!
(By the way, that line of mine was the funny thing - NOT the circumstance that led up to its delivery.)
When I got back to the valley, our opening faculty meeting was the next day. I was greatly relieved when I saw the wonderful relationship my new colleagues have with each other. I knew it was a great school and expected that everybody would be a proud member of the team. Nevertheless, to have it confirmed was very good.
After the meeting I paid a final visit to the old school, to see what the new teacher might have done to my old room. My jaw had almost hit the floor when I had discovered two weeks before that it had been totally emptied so that it could be painted. If I had not been moved, I'd have not been able to make that last trip I took, because, with the painting, that's the week I'd have had to spend in getting my old classroom ready to start the new year. There! A silver lining! And, believe me; I needed one.
One of the highlights of the new place? Look at where my scooter's parked. Right outside my classroom! And I have my own outside door right there at the end of the stack of books. To be certain, I am in a very good place, with great kids who come from wonderful families, a bunch of new colleagues who have bent over backwards to help me get accustomed to new ways of doing things, and a most supportive and encouraging principal. I've spent the past week with my new kids, and we all seem to be quite happy together. The commute is a little longer than in the past, but with the scooter it's fun ride up the side of a mountain with cool twisties. I'll be hoping for a good number of scooter days before the roads start to get iffy with the kind of weather that winter here usually deals us.
So, no, it was not the summer I had wanted as April turned into May and then May into June. There was not a single, truly liberating scooter ride of the sorts that I'd enjoyed for the past few summer vacations, because every one of them brought me right back to the angst and the hard work of moving. As we head into September I'm hoping that the feeling of being overwhelmed by new ways of doing things will fade and that I'll soon feel a comfortable familiarity as I go from day to day toward a June that I need more than ever. I will admit that I'm already longing for that last day of the school year to arrive. I am starving and parched for the summer I had hoped to have with more long trips to where I feel more at home than I do in my own skin most days. Meanwhile, I hope to make the year for my young charges an unforgettably great one!
Oh! They think I'm awesome because I come to school on a motorcycle. Shhhhhh! Scooter? What's that?
