Life in Eden

Steven S. Stromberg

No more pencils, no more books .

The gang from the musical "Grease" poured out of the front door of Rydell
High to a huge carnival and sang "Whop ba ba loo bop, do whop bang boom." My
kids come in my front door and sing, "Gimmee some money for school parties
and a field trip to Valleyfair."

It must be that time of year. Now that the children are older I do hear a
little more about final exams and the end of spring sports, but the familiar
hue and cry for dollars to pay for myriad parties and field trips still
accompany the end of year rush.

I remember warmly an almost giddy sense of well being as the days of the
classroom wound down while I was in school. I often wondered why my teachers
weren't as happy during the start of the year as they were at the end. As an
adult I can say with full certainty, I get it.

I don't envy teachers very often, but most 49-week-a-year clock punchers
probably utter the words, "I should have been a teacher," this time of year.
I admit that I do as well, but not for the reasons you may think.

A summer of freedom from my desk would be wonderful but what really
intrigues me is the idea that each year educators get to close a chapter on
one classroom and start fresh next year. There had to be a fair number of my
teachers that were glad to see me and some of my erstwhile friends move up
to the next grade. Not that a worse group might not be moving up behind me,
but the teacher could always hope that those families might move away over
the summer and take their little brats with them.

In business you can be stuck with a lousy boss, customer or client for a
long, long time - an entire career in some instances. There is no sense of
impending closure, other than the option of leaving your job for one where
people might be less psychotic.

I have never deluded myself into thinking that I had what it took to
instruct a room full of smelly, easily distracted youngsters for 35 years,
so I will let my dreams of summers off be just that, dreams.

Times have changed, however. The big end-of-year field trip for my
fourth-grade class (this would have been 1972) was to the Tuffy's Dog Food
factory in a neighboring community. Imagine our excitement at the
opportunity to see horsemeat ground up into dry dog food. The most memorable
part of the tour was the horrible stench that covered us like a wool sweater
by the end of the day. That trip may have derailed a few potential careers
in the dog food industry.

It was better the next year, but not by much. That same nearby community was
also home to the Barrel O' Fun potato chip factory. Since it had taken a
full year for most of us to get our appetites back, we were like little
eager beavers for this end-of-year adventure and a chance to eat a hot
potato chip right off the assembly line. Yum! Like I said, times have
changed.

I am happy that my children and their friends are so excited each spring,
anticipating movies in the classroom, the trip to the amusement park, cake
and candy, lunch at Redstone and Biaggi, stock options, an audience with the
governor, etc.

Sometimes I just wish they would shut up about it, though.

Dog food and a potato chip. Yippee.

Eden Prairie resident Steven Stromberg's humor column appears twice monthly.