Introduction
My back aches. This morning I bend to grab a fluff of cat hair from the kitchen floor and very nearly fail to come back up. It's always this way - a small mundane task that becomes an agonizing reminder of my ageing body. Third period 8th grade English. The thing is, I'm not in the mood today for the eighth grade boy who surges into my classroom to dog whistle at the top of his lungs. Nor do I care to deal with uncharged Chrome books, late homework, or the middle school girl who abruptly vomits on my shoes. I'm old. I'm tired. And my back is killing me. It's eons ago that I am in the second grade lugging a small footstool to my bedroom - pretending it's my classroom desk - to carefully arrange two pencils and a Big Chief tablet on its surface. "Boys and Girls," I mimic my teacher Sister William Jane, "let's not have any funny business back there." Fr. Jim Golka Even then, school is my first love. From beginning