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.