Everyone I know, to me: “It’s June! You’re, like, DONE! You must be so happy!”
Fucking, just, no. No, no, no.
I’m sure this is very difficult for non-teachers to understand, but June is actually one of the worst months of the year in our profession. June carries with it a very specific, very potent, very excruciating kind of misery that is like the 3rd cousin of, but not directly related to, the general misery that permeates months September through May.
The kids are OUT. OF. CONTROL. The end-of-year housekeeping tasks are never ending and mind-numbingly dull. Administration is in a state of perpetual pissed-off. The building is 972 degrees, whether it’s a cool or hot day outside. Makes no difference. Heat and humidity of any kind gets trapped, it rises, the air conditioner breaks (if it even worked in the first place), and suddenly you feel as though you are trapped on the E-train platform in the dead of August. Surrounded by other people’s sweaty, prepubescent children. For 8 hours straight.
It’s not good.
So please. I know you all mean well, but save the “You’re done! You must be so happy!” for June 28th, 3:01pm, and not a moment before (or 3:10pm if you want a particularly animated response, as I’ll be 7 shots deep by then).
Because here’s what’s happening now:
(15 minutes later….)
(Part of the #june series)
“I hope you aren’t here to observe me. Because nothing good is happening in here.”
— me, to my assistant principal, when he walked into my room as my students were coloring and singing.
(Taking #june to a whole new level)
A graduating 5th grader, who I taught in Kindergarten, 1st, and 3rd grades, stopped by my classroom, said hello to me, reached into a giant bag of thank you cards and fished around until he finally found the one he came to deliver.
And then he promptly handed it to my classroom paraprofessional (who did not even notice him because she was, as usual, deeply entrenched in her erotica novel.)
Because the card was for her. Not for me.
The kid made that very clear when he looked at me, looked at her, looked back at me and said “This is for Miss Mary.”
Then he left without saying goodbye.
Me: “It’s our last tutoring session of the year! Are you excited?”
Kid: “OH MY GOD YESSSSS!!!”
Alright calm the fuck down.
Kid: “I wrote you and Miss [coteacher] an end-of-year card.”
When you’re so checked out, you start bringing your own grocery bags to work.
Colleague (referring to the fact that no parents showed up to our Parent Engagement Night): “At least it gave you some time to finish report cards!”
Me (rolling my eyes): “Oh, please. We finished those last week. Mentally, I’m already in Israel.”
Colleague: <completely and utterly unamused>
Probably because he’s my boss.
Me: “Why does the last month of school drag on foreverrrrrrrrrrrrr?!?!?!?”
And then, at some point between my trips to Israel, Michigan, and the Outer Banks this summer, someone punches me in the face.
Because I deserve it.
That moment when you’re reading a super awkward part in the class read-aloud about a boy and a girl at a middle school dance, and a kid calls out “Woo– nice flirting!”
So you just throw the book down, get up and leave.
Because you’re laughing so hard you’re crying.
(Part of the #june series)
Kid: <stops asking. Realizes he’s learning nothing. Focuses on wiping his sweat.>