Just a rant, on the eve before the last day of school

Classrooms, for the most part, always seemed a bit dishonest to me. A game of pretend. I tried so hard to play my part: paid attention, took notes, answered questions, competed for the best grades in every subject. Why? To prove that I belonged, that I was worth all this time and effort after all. To prove that I was smart and capable. As a prayer, that some day I'd get out of my broken small town existence, that I was not just another poor victim of child abuse. The teacher who told great stories, who exuded passion for their subject, those were the teachers I was truly grateful for, because in their classes, I became my role, wrapped up in literature, philosophy, history. In those classes, only in those classes, I felt home for the first time.
This could be why in middle school, I began to narrow down the subjects I gave a flying fuck about. Math was in my rear view by middle school, though I faked it through my junior year. Every history teacher I had after eigth grade cured me of any inclination in that way. Science was an on and off affair, mostly settling on my 10th grade honors biology teacher's mustache. But really, by my junior year of high school, I let all but competetive speaking pass away from my field of concern. I had a lot to be concerned about you know, and speech and debate wrapped all the best subjects up into one practical, fun class.
So, how did I ever graduate from college? I've told that story many times. It all comes down to Winston. His birth gave me a reason to risk the classroom again. I did well. Graduated Magna Cum Laude. Because the truth is, I have always felt most comfortable in a well-funtioning classroom. And, now, I'm on the other end. I'm teaching in a high school classroom and we are about to end another school year. In many ways, I am still playing the same game of pretend. So, I am both excited and afraid for the arrival of summer. There is comfort in the role I play every day. I take pride in my work and love my subject. I am confident and learned. At home, I struggle to write, be a good mother, not totally fail in love (though I am). These are matters of life and death. When I botch a lesson, it's a challenge. I revise it. Redo it. There's fun in failure there. Not so much with all the rest. When people ask me what if I have any plans for the summer, I always say, "to relax." A big fat sometimes I even believe it myself lie.