When I was in school we were always allowed to take two class pictures: one serious, where everyone sat all straight-backed and put their knees together like ladies and stared coyly at the camera, and one completely goofy. In the goofy one people were usually falling all over each other and rabbit ears multiplied like — well. We would loosen our ties (yes, we wore ties. Shut up.), puff up our pinafores even more than they already were puffed, and dangle lanky adolescent limbs in awkward positions. If we liked the class teacher we had that year, we would dangle over her, too. And she’d try to maintain her decorum, but grin.

I have a class picture from this year’s teaching. It was taken in December, when I knew I was leaving and all the boys already hated me deeply — not because I was awful to them, although sometimes I was, but because I didn’t know how to show them I cared about them even though they were eating me alive. It’s an odd picture — half of them are missing, because they were suspended that day or something, and the other half look heartbreakingly neat and pressed. There are a couple of megawatt smiles, and a couple of furious scowls. My head is tilted at a weird angle because I am trying not to let tears run out of my eyes.

I really wish I’d known how to let them have their serious picture and their goofy picture, too.

Anyhoo — this isn’t supposed to be a melancholy post. Go check out those wondrous dudes in the picture… and dream of the lives they ended up living. Goodnight.