Commuted

Last Thursday I rode my bike to school.

No big deal. I've done it a lot of times.

Most of the time that I have been teaching, this year and all the years before. 

But it was the Last Day of School for kids at Horace Mann that I stumbled on the phrase: Rush Hour. What does that mean to me? 

I know it takes me about twelve minutes to get to work from my house. It takes about fifteen minutes to get home. I take advantage of the slope on my way there, and it works against me on the way home. The elements sometimes play a part in that as well, but my commute has been blessedly straightforward for more than a quarter century. 

On those rare occasions that I get to ride in a car there is the tiniest bit of traffic with which we must contend. Parking isn't usually a hassle of any significance because there is plenty of bare curb to be found when I roll up. And more often than not, if I am in a car, I will be exiting the vehicle so my wife can be on her way to whatever adventures await her. 

While I go to work. 

I got my perfect attendance award last week. I was on time and in my place each and every day this school year. I got there early so that I could have a few quiet moments before the gates open and the stream of children signal the start of my work day. 

I'm the guy who opens that gate. Which does give me pause. I wonder if I didn't show up on time one day if there might be a mad scramble to figure out how to get all those little people into the building if I weren't there. 

But now it's June, and these questions can go unanswered for the time being. This all too brief pause in the story of Mister Caven and his commute. Starting with day one.