Goodbye, Mister Caven

 I realize that I am going through a little bit of withdrawal. 

It's not unusual for the summer to catch up to me in different ways. Getting out of bed when I feel good and ready is definitely one of the perks of having a summer vacation. Still, I do my share of arguing with the voice inside my head that wants me to get up and be useful. Having this blog helps. Having a place to go to "work" when so many of the people I know and love are on their way to jobs takes some of the edge off being able to do as I please. I spend nine months out of the year answering to a bell and then waiting for the next crisis to unfold or be resolved. Not having a fire burning is a treat.

Even if I don't know how to deal with it. 

But that's nothing new. 

This year I believe I have isolated the thing that I am missing more than just about anything else: Mister Caven. When I signed on to Horace Mann nearly three decades ago, I was given my "school name." The lady who hired me had some very clear guidelines. Your kids could be hanging from the light fixtures and cursing up a storm as long as the bulletin boards outside your room were neat and up to date. She also liked to close meetings with the same words, "Questions, comments, concerns." That might have been a request for feedback, but after a couple shots at making a comment or asking a question it became apparent that this was simply a refrain that would let us all know that the meeting was over and we were to go about our business. And none of us were to have first names. 

When I was at school, I was Mister Caven. This lingered on into the teacher parties I hosted at my house where more than one inebriated educator wandered into my kitchen asking, "Mister Caven, where is your corkscrew?" This trend continues on today with even my wife getting into the spirit. For any question, comment or concern that is connected to my job, she will inevitably address me as Mister Caven. When kids ask me what my "real name" is, I know what they mean. When they press and insist they need to know my first name, I tell them, "Mister." 

But now it has been a couple of weeks, and Mister Caven has gone into hibernation. Nobody needs to be escorted to the office. No one needs a ball off the roof. Mister Caven has left the building. If anyone asks, he's somewhere doing good deeds. Like finding that corkscrew.