← Poetry

August and chalk dust.

by Ken Bradbury

August and chalk dust. A pedagogical allergy. Hormone-laden 12-year-olds make pubescent tracks down the hall and into my classroom. Sit! Rules. Lines which Thou Shalt Not Cross. This will be done then and that will be done now then we shall be done, for good. The awe lasts a day then the proof must be found in my pudding.

Late September and you’ve learned what it takes to earn my smile. October and my hurdle is raised …Now it takes a bolder effort to win the grin. Our November rut is established just in time for the December break.

January…. I tell you that a new year brings a fresh slate, Then I do my best to mark it up again. February, March… slogging months April brings the longing to be done with it. Eyes out the window. Brains nearly loosed of their tether. May…. The hurricane of freedom blows full force as I hold onto your remaining leg, keeping it soundly in the classroom. When mind reading becomes a part of the curriculum, I shall retire. Then you’ll know that my mind wanders even further than yours

I’d rather hug than teach, and in hugging, teach. I’d rather play than learn, and in playing, learn. The June bell rings and I dare to ask if I’ve made any difference at all. The June bell rings and I curse those who’ve made this year so very hard to live… the mandates, the bureaucrats, the agencies, the absent fathers, the administrators, the discouragement. Adolescence, once enough trial of its own, now travels with fellow antagonists.

But today.. today it is August, my children. Today is August and I am encouraged by your smiles. Today is August and your spirit kindles a spark of youth within me. Today is August and we begin to play the game. Know that my only wisdom is in knowing nothing. Today is August…… I promise, oh my young friends, I’ll not take too much from you.