Writers aren't exactly people, they're a lot of people trying to be one person. F.Scott Fitzgerald

Monday, September 6, 2010

Labor Day

      Labor Day in the 40's to 60's announced the official end of the lazy days of summer.At least it did in the small town in northeast Louisiana where I grew up. Backyard BBQ's, a day at the beach,neighbor hood block parties were common and enjoyed.This day portended the mostly dreaded beginning of  another school year. New school clothes were usually bought and hanging ominously in closets and tucked away in dresser drawers. New shoes pinched feet used to the bliss of being bare.School supplies waited patiently in backpacks.Bicycles tires were aired and ready for the dreaded trip to the local schoolyard.parents were grinning an obsessive amount and kids,not so much. Bullies anticipated finding new victims or harassing the old. Girls picked out their prettiest outfits and boys growled at the stiffness of their new jeans and the starch in their shirts.Teachers girded their loins for yet another new group of rowdy children trying to make it through yet another year  until summer. Few children,except for the nerds, actually admitted liking school. Most were glad to renew friendships, make new friends and  discuss our summers,at least until the dreaded words out of the teachers mouth.
        "Settle down and write a paper on what you did this summer. We'll read them out loud when you are finished. Tomorrow we'll have a math test to see how much you forgot over the summer.
       That's when you knew summer was really over!

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