I am looking forward to the coming days when the local school system wraps things up for the summer. Summer, or at least late spring, means that there is not a temperamental crossing guard who never gives any warning that it is indeed your car she intends to stop to allow a parade of 15 SUVs to flood out of the drop-off area. It also means that I will not be having to follow those same SUVs piddling along at 30 miles an hour in a 50 miles per hour zone in order to conserve that extra tenth of a gallon so they can put off their next $100 fill-up another few days hours. At least I can tell from staring at the back of their over-sized vehicles where they stand on wedge issues and the names of all of their children and what sports they identify with at the moment.
A quick look at my calendar shows that I do not have anything planned for the next three months except for a dentist appointment in August. That is perhaps the most difficult adjustment to make from 17 consecutive years of school to my present 40-hour work week. Summers were once a time to celebrate the absence of those things that tormented you for the preceding nine months, such as tests, quizzes, homework, papers and final exams. Those same forces that draw the ire of students everywhere also serve as a bit of a unifying element in their personal story; papers and exams are like the antagonist that they must defeat to move on. Summer marked a celebration of those accomplishments, even if most of the reveling was done by sleeping in until 1 p.m. and mostly complaining about being "bored out of [one's] mind." Ah, sweet freedom.
This month marks two years since starting my first of two full-time jobs and an end to the "meaningful" summer. I did not enjoy last summer much at all, as neither my wife nor I had any vacation time to speak of and not much of an inclination if we had. I intend to make a better effort this go-round to enjoy the outdoors and to be a bit more active on the weekends. Raise a glass to intentions.