This week is finals week for my students. I teach three classes, and each has its final either Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday morning. This morning a group of bleary-eyed kids wandered into my room and plopped resignedly, into their seats. They hate finals.
I love them.
Why? It isn't as though their finals count more than any other assessment does (I teach a standards-based class). It isn't as though they take this much more seriously than any other test of the year. No... I love finals week for another reason entirely.
It means I'm almost done.
Once that third class has staggered out my door, I don't have to look at a student again until September. Ten glorious weeks of NO KIDS. I love it. I can't wait. I NEED it. I love my job, but teenagers - well, to say they can get on your nerves is an understatement. Normally they are good kids, too... but that doesn't keep me from wishing I could choke them a time or two.
THREE MORE DAYS!