I was going to be Edra.

Edra taught Spanish forever.  Or maybe longer.  She’s still coming to conferences, and we’re all happy to see her.  “How old is, she anyway?” someone will say as she walks away.  90? 100?  Well, that was going to be me.  I was going to teach and teach and teach.  I loved it.  In fact, I was going to do her one better.  I planned to fall over, happy, right there in the classroom one day in, oh, 2050.

Ain’t happenin’.  Ask any teacher.  The young ones are looking around for a new career.  Older teachers like me are counting our pennies, figuring that if we keep the car longer and give up the newspaper, we may just be able to retire.

I may still fall over in the classroom.  Any day now. There are no more Edras.



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