May is the new December

About this time a couple years ago, I made what I thought was a funny, innocuous comment, and an instant enemy of the school librarian. Actually, probably the whole elementary school faculty and staff.

I was a chaperone one of Colin’s field trips to a neighboring town. It’s a relic of the Civil War-era Boise Basin gold rush, and its 400 or so current residents go to great lengths to retain its Wild West appearance for tourists.

The kids spent much of the day split into groups with parents who led them around, pointing out general historical stuff while being ignored. Afterward, everyone met in a shop for a scoop of ice cream. On the way out of town, the busses pulled into a picnic area where we roasted hotdogs for lunch.

I sidled up to my friend, the librarian, and made small talk. She’d always been chatty and sociable.

The kids had finished their hotdogs and were chasing each other over picnic tables. We agreed we were looking forward to summer.

“What’s with this whole last month of school, anyway?” I asked. “I mean, there’s not much actual school going on, right?”

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