The Last Supper

Today is the last day of school.

I planned on getting some pizzas delivered to my classroom. A gift for my students. But not a single pizza place will deliver to our neighborhood. Not one.

I really feel bad about this. I explain it to the kids. They understand. But I’m still hurt. I say, ‘I’m always hollering at you to sit down, hollering at you to shut up, do the assignment. For once, I just wanted to do something nice.’

Given what these kids know about life, they expect things to go wrong. But they were pleased by my effort and, in the end, were happy just to party.

They pulled up their desks next to mine. And with abandon, we dined on a haute cuisine of cake, nachos, soda and laughter.


Filed under: Prose, Publius