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The cause of the excitement was the Marymount School Class of 2022. The graduating seniors at the all-girls private school stood behind a barricade — so as not to get hit by oncoming traffic and spoil the fun — hooting and hollering and holding up signs encouraging passing motorists to acknowledge their achievement by sitting on their horns.
I have no interest in being a teacher; while I enjoy the performance aspects of pedagogy, having to grade papers and indulge overanxious moms and dads at parent-teacher conferences seems like a medieval form of torture. But once you’re a grown up there are few other ways than as a teacher to experience that peculiar end-of-the-school-year freedom.
Trying to put words to emotions is a fool’s game. But there’s something so visceral, so imprinting, so imperishable about the sensation that my hunch is that no matter how old you get you’ll always remember that giddy sense of possibility as endless summer spreads its wings.
Indeed, my suspicion is that when you’re old and senile and memory has largely deserted you, something will still well up from your subconscious and you’ll recall walking or taking the bus to school coatless under the warmth of the springtime sun, and surprise yourself at how young, vigorous and buoyant you briefly feel again.
My sadness and regret lies in the recognition that no matter how optimistic or content I may feel there’s no way to recapture the quiet ecstasy associated with the end of the school year, especially if you don’t have to repeat the grade.
When I told Malcolm I was tackling this important subject he suggested a contributing factor supercharging the elation of approaching summer vacation: it’s partially the contrast to the previous months’ forced march. It’s the stark divide between the conclusion of the grinding school year and cramming for final exams, and the blithe irresponsibility of summer that makes the occasion so sweet.
It’s also the knowledge that after months of awakening at dawn — and even before first light in winter — and then sleepwalking your way to school and the morning’s first classes you can finally sleep in to your heart’s content, especially if you have enlightened parents.
Making those days and weeks all the more precious is that you’re not experiencing them in a vacuum. Your classmates are in the same delirious boat. And with any luck you might even be in love with somebody and they with you.
In the spring of my own senior year, after years of homework and getting to bed at a responsible hour, I remember watching an Errol Flynn film festival on TV in the wee hours of the morning. I wasn’t even a particular fan of the swashbuckling hero of “The Adventures of Robin Hood.” I did so because I could.
The pressure was finally off. And I still made it to school on time. Or perhaps I didn’t and played hooky. But who cares at that point? Your teachers’ threats that you had to keep up your academic work so that your college acceptances wouldn’t be revoked sounded pretty hollow.
So to the graduating class of 2022, I wish you all the best and probably don’t need to tell you what you already know: don’t take this unique moment for granted. Revel in the coming days, weeks and summer months. Indulge responsibly. You’ve earned it.