the final stretch

It's hard to believe we're in the final stretch. It's hard to believe that there really is a light at the end of the tunnel. I was out with Mr. Carlson, the gym teacher, last night, and he was telling me that this is the best part of the year. He says the kids are in a good mood and so are the teachers. He says that's rare when the teachers are in a good mood. He says that's the one thing he hates most about teaching - the teachers. I laughed when he told me this. We were drinking margaritas at a place called El Burrito.

"You hate teachers," I said. "Do you know what that means?"

"It means I hate myself," Mr. Carlson said, and laughed.

I laughed, too, and kept sipping my margarita.

"You have to remember something, though," Mr. Carlson said. "I teach gym."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I wear shorts to work all year round and I am the designated pitcher when the kids play whiffle ball."

Mr. Carlson paused.

"I'm not a teacher," he said. "I'm not one of you."