I've got a case of the guilties this morning.
Remember last year? When Chaco "Continuated" from 8th grade to 9th grade and I blogged about the silly bloated ceremony? I'm not saying they shouldn't have some sort of shindig to wish the 8th graders well on their exit from middle school to high school, but that ceremony was such and exhibition of pomposity, I felt surely they couldn't be serious.
So, I braced myself, knowing that this year it would be Wolfgang's turn, and I would be sitting there giggling inwardly while behaving myself outwardly. But no. I won't be. It's tonight.
I'm a teacher. I teach night classes mostly. I teach tonight. I won't make the bloated ceremony of continuation pomposity, and I'm actually sorry to be missing it. I mean, c'mon, I wouldn't be going to listen to the principal drone on boringly or to sit through other such muffled orations of windiness or cringe as the readers demonstrate that they were too lazy to learn the proper pronunciations of some of the students' names. I would be going to see Wolfgang. I would be going so that he knew I was there.
But I won't be there. Darned if you do, darned if you don't.
And those Thunderbirds are rattling my windows again as I type this. Trying to get me to go outside, trying to get me away from my lesson planning. "Come and look! Come and look!", they say with their afterburners.
And I hear Wolfgang saying it too, "Come and see!"