My feelings about the beginning of the school year have evolved over a long period of time.

When I was a kid, going to school in the 1940's, in the Kentucky coal fields, school was pretty miserable. The buildings were bleak old run-down turn-of-the-century relics, and so were most of the teachers. Lessons were hard and often taught with a paddle. I dreaded every day of it, but I can remember one day when I was in the sixth grade, I decided that if I ever became a teacher, I would be better than the one at the front of the room.

High school was different. I lived in Florida and there were cars and girls and beaches. The school that I went to was rather progressive for that time, and the teachers were real human beings. The beginning of the school year was no problem. Years later, when I started teaching, those Florida teachers were my role models.

In college, there was no beginning of the year. We were on the quarter system and I went to school all four quarters. I was working part time, and I just kept the same schedule all the way through to graduation. Summers were difficult because none of the classrooms were air conditioned in those days.

The first day, of the first year, of my teaching career was somewhat frightening, but the second day was OK. I looked forward to each day and really loved teaching. Summers were spent on odd jobs trying to keep food on the table. My last teaching check came in June and I didn't get another one until September. So during the summer, I worked in a factory, painted classrooms, and taught driver ed. I also managed to land some summer workshops with the National Science Foundation. Those people actually *paid* me to go to school! I studied at Murray State in Kentucky and East Carolina in North Carolina. I wound up with credits on file in seven different universities in four states. The local teacher's association paid my expenses to five National Education Association conventions, and by camping, I managed to have a few bucks left over.

Teaching was fun, and I always looked forward to the start of the school year. There was always a fresh crop of kids, and I had many friends in the local school system.

But by the 27th year (of 33)I was feeling burnout.
Most teachers know about burnout. It has been compared to battle fatigue among soldiers. When it is done right, teaching takes a lot out of you. The mental strain makes you physically tired. It's not just the class room. It's the politics. It's trying to keep your head above water on a low salary. It's trying to stay current in a subject where the information available in exploding. I started teaching when paper and string demonstations held the attention of the students. But by the time I finished, I was competing with cable TV, video games, spaceflight, and computers. I had to study hard just to keep up. So finally, the last few years, I became aware that I was burning out. I started dreading the beginning of school. Fortunately, I had made good plans for retirement and could afford to hang it up. I know teachers who stayed on for 20 years after burnout, just because they couldn't afford to quit.

Now, when school starts, it means less crowding at Grand Canyon or Dollywood. It means that my grand kids don't come over as often, or stay as long. It means that I have to remember to slow down in school zones. It means that I don't have to get up early and go to school anymore. I don't do lesson plans, or take summer classes.

If there is a good side to burnout, it's that after you hang it up, you don't miss it.

This afternoon, I went by a middle school to pick up my grandson. I stepped inside for a minute and listened to the sounds. I smelled the sour-milk smell from the cafeteria. I watched students and teachers hurrying about winding up their day.

Sorry, no nostalgia.
Howard