THE LAST OF THE OLD

One more blog about the move from the old middle school to the old high school to the newly remodeled middle school.

After years of being inside the construction zone, of having my room swallowed up by the new high school, of watching the workers progress from the swamped-in portapotty to being inside the new gymnasium right outside of my window, of being boarded in by plywood for six months, of being in a room with broken windows in the temporary digs at the old high school, I am finally getting ready for the last big move.

I end up with 39 bins full of texts and materials, two full file cabinets, several bookcases, one office chair, and a boatload of stuff to store at home for the next ten weeks.

I leave behind my whiteboard sketch of William Shakespeare, who insulted us all every morning with the daily nasty Shakespearean quote.  I leave behind the outline of the Titanic going down on my cheap-ass pretend bulletin board.  I leave behind my chalk rendition of our field trip to the aquarium.

I leave behind the cinder block walls of safety, security, and masking taped posters for the "progress" of drywall, where we as educators have been forbidden from putting ANYTHING on the walls lest we destroy the paint and cheap board finish.

I leave behind the asbestos tiled floors for whatever new-fangled tiles they claim will be better.

I leave behind the faculty bathroom that is so far away I need a taxi and a ten minute break just to get there and back.

I leave behind screenless windows that let in bees and flies and small birds. (We all finally broke down and bought our own expandable screens.  Of course, I bought mine after fighting with a wasp and screaming, "Die, die, DIE!" during an open house in front of students and parents.)

You've been good to me, schools; both of you, the old middle school and the old high school alike, have been good to me.  It's a damn shame the old building is just going to be torn down instead of repurposed.  All that money spent, and nothing left to show for it but horrible tons of indisposable trash.

Time to move on.  Progress is painful, sometimes.  In ten weeks, though, it will all be good, I hope.  I'll let you know in September.