In elementary and high school, spring breaks were rare. In the mountains of Western North Carolina there were enough snow days to wipe out the vacation days. My junior year we missed 30 days for snow. Sometimes we had Good Friday and Easter Monday off. Easter Monday was a southern thing. I have no idea why it was considered a necessary day for school closing. There were no trips to the beach like the ones in Where the Boys Are and other teen movies.

Spring breaks

In elementary and high school, spring breaks were rare.  In the mountains of Western North Carolina there were enough snow days to wipe out the vacation days.  My junior year we missed 30 days for snow.  Sometimes we had Good Friday and Easter Monday off.  Easter Monday was a southern thing.  I have no idea why it was considered a necessary day for school closing. There were no trips to the beach like the ones in Where the Boys Are and other teen movies.

In college, spring breaks were choir tours on buses through Tennessee, Virginia, DC, North Carolina and Maryland.  We stayed in the homes of church members.  I have stories about those experiences.  The good ones were very good, and the bad ones were bad.

I liked staying in a lovely house at the top of the hill near Missionary Ridge in Chattanooga where the Union army attacked climbing almost straight up and sacrificed themselves.  It’s ugly history, but walking there seemed respectful of the soldiers.

One family asked me back year.  Singing at the same church was unusual, but we had been invited back for a special occasion.  There were over 60 of us in the choir, and we made a good addition for their celebration.

My worst night was spent with my friend Molly.  The woman who hosted us gave us a room with one double bed, no top sheet and one blanket.  I slept in my coat.  In the morning, she gave us each a hand towel.  I did not take a shower.  There were so many roaches I climbed up on the bathroom counter and knelt to wash my face and brush my teeth.  For breakfast she gave us Jello salad left over for the dinner at the church the night before.  We thanked her for hosting us.  Back on the bus, we begged for food from anyone who has at least peanut butter cheese crackers or fruit, and we survived until lunch.  Lunch was buy-your-own at a local fast food restaurant.  Be aware that there were very few MacDonald’s in Central Virginia in the late 60s.

The next night, the mother and daughter who hosted us had a hairdryer like the ones in beauty shops.  I gratefully washed, set, dried my long hair.  Their neighbors took Diane, who lived near Memphis and had never see the ocean, to Virginia Beach.  I love that story.

My junior year, my assigned roommate and I switched so that I could stay at my friend Ann’s own home, in Richmond, with her mother and stepfather, because Ann’s usual roommate was African American, and Ann’s stepfather was in the KKK.  The stepfather went out for the evening.  We saw him for only a couple of minutes when he said hello.  He didn’t go to the concert.  Ann is not my friend’s name.

When I was teaching high school English in Virginia for nine years, spring breaks were sacred time for teachers. I needed them!  I loved snow days, but I would rather have spring break so I could catch up on grading, especially research papers, and long, cursive, handwritten essays, and I could sleep late.

In 2004, when we moved from California to North Carolina, and I taught high school for a second time, spring breaks usually happened.  I spent those days catching up on school work and sleeping.  My son Julian went on high school choir tours:  singing at Disney World, going to Six Flags over Georgia, visiting the water front tourist area in Baltimore, and staying in hotels.

Now there is no spring break for me.  I’m retired. I’m on break for all of spring, and I can sleep late whenever I want.   No long essays or stories.  I can read whatever I want.