November rabbit

The Jostens people were set up in the commons today for what I always think should be the real final exam. If a kid cannot remember to bring his cap and gown money to school, or properly fill out the order form, or recognize that trinkets dipped in maroon and white and stamped Class of '08 are more often than not an overpriced gyp, is he really ready to go out and face the world? I'm thinking no.

But, we'll graduate 'em anyway, high school not being in the practical life-skill business, as far as I can tell. Lord knows if they had to learn organization from me their methods would be a little quirky. Then again, Abigail's overstuffed folders--after six years in my charge--do indeed resemble my desk. That isn't good. And, odds are, mere coincidence, though you never know what they'll pick up.

It could be, decades hence, she'll find herself uttering "rabbit" in the morning hours of the first of every month because some intimidating old freshman typing teacher insisted it was good luck. Or, um, actually, that was me. I don't remember the way I once did--finally, those neurons may once again be mine!--but then I flip over the calendar and say it like a reflex. Good grief. I don't know what else high school taught me, but I sure did learn that.