In the past, the end of June was a celebratory period in my life. It signaled the end of the school year, and three long months of freedom. Summer vacation is something that, as kids, we always experienced. It was just an expected part of life, and it’s not until you obtain a full-time job when you realize how fantastic that three-month vacation was.
Now, at age 26 — and three years into my first ever full-time job — the only reason I even remember that it’s the beginning of summer vacation is because of the Facebook statuses I see from all of my friends who are teachers.
Before I continue, I must point out that I wrote a similar post about this subject last December, condemning teachers who were about to embark on a two-week winter break. The post was written mostly out of jealousy and spite, and in hindsight, I must admit that I was a little harsh.
So let me go ahead and say that I am the biggest advocate of teachers, and all those who work in schools. I will stand on a soapbox and share my belief that they may very well be the hardest working people in the world.
Now I don’t mean that on a physical sense, because it would be an insult to manual laborers who work during the hot and humid spring and summer months, lugging heavy objects several hours a day. Those guys are in a league of their own.
But in an all-around sense, teachers have to be on their A-game in more aspects than most professions call for. Physically. Mentally. Instinctively. Psychologically. Rhythmically. Sexually.
Oh wait, that last one is only in porn.
They are responsible for delivering material to young, unjaded minds five days a week for 10 months a year. To present such material in a relatable way, they must be eloquent and concise, and therefore must always have their wits at all times. In other words, they can’t ever go to work hung over.
And let’s face it, while every job in the world does indeed serve some purpose, we all know that we could go to work sometimes hung over. Unless you’re an air traffic controller or a the elected leader of a country (although George W. never got the memo), you can afford to go out on the occasional weeknight and have a one or two — or several — drinks, and just coast the following day at work.
Teachers don’t have that luxury.
We have yet to even take into account the other facets of a teacher’s job. Specifically, the things they must do outside of the classroom. For one, they wake up earlier than anybody. After grueling schooldays, they must attend meetings. They deal with whining children, immature adolescents, punk teenagers, overbearing superiors and naive parents who refuse to believe their children are anything but innocent. And to boot, their salaries leave a lot to be desired.
From September to June, teachers put up with a lot of shit. And for that, one can certainly make the argument that they, more than any other job, deserve a three-month vacation. I can acknowledge that.
But I just have one simple request. Just one. Don’t post about it on Facebook. Don’t tell me about your elaborate summer plans. Don’t post an Instagram photo of the beach at 10 a.m. when my workday is just beginning. Because as nice as I am being right now, I am equally as pissed off when I see such a picture. For that split-second when I see that picture, I know how Hitler felt when he decided to exterminate the Jews. Because I feel that same way about teachers. But only during that split second. Once I take a deep breath and calm myself, things are mostly back to normal again.
So teachers, administrators, guidance counselors, school psychologists, secretaries, and even students — enjoy the summer. Live it up. Travel. But don’t expect anymore love from me. For the next three months, you are the enemy. You are my Ivan Drago in Rocky IV. You are my Voldemort.
And I am a 15-year-old wizard hero.
That analogy just didn’t work at all.