Retire-spent

Today, I had a perfectly ordinary economics class with my English principal, Mr. Lasky. The atmosphere was restlessly cheerful with the slightest razor of tension that always keeps his class so phenomenally spicy. He taught us how and why to buy health insurance, and how to avoid being left penniless in our old age (striking terror into my very soul along the way.) I scribbled down my notes and as endlessly entertained and intimidated by Mr. Lasky as always. At the start of the year, I decided in awe that he could have been born as anything from a medieval vassal to Bill Gates and click in seamlessly. He is the most dynamic, confident teacher I have ever had.

Two minutes before the end of class, Mr. Lasky told us that he was retiring. I started to cry.

I feel... I don't know how I feel. Mr. Lasky has been a teacher for forty years. He's been the Dean of public schools. He has taught at my school for twenty-two years. It's seems impossible for him to be anything except a teacher. He's... he's Mr. Lasky, he exudes administration. And why did I react the way I did? Everyone was stunned, everyone was sad, but almost no one else was crying. It isn't as though I had a particular connection with him- I still get scared walking past his office! I don't know why it's so hard to take in. It won't even effect me, technically- I'm lucky, my sister won't be his student at all. It's just... maybe it feels like graduation has all of a sudden come early, and I'm not prepared. Maybe it's a tiny alarm going off in my head, "Change is coming! Change is coming! Your feet are going to be knocked out from under you!" And I know it's true, but I can't do anything about it.