Breakfast in the Past

The sixty-one high school kids
jogged past me as I ate my
sausage McMuffin and
egg on the running
path. I counted
them as they

Mira Costa? Redondo? I didn’t
ask. A young man said good
morning to me and I gave
him the same. Their
effort kept them
focused on

task. They had yet to work up
a sweat making me think
they were not far into
their workout. It
brought back
of my

thirty-four years in the class
room. Had I been some-
thing like an accoun-
tant without a mem-
ory of thirty plus
faces staring
back at

me, this morning would have
had less impact. I know
I can’t go back, but as
I ate my tasty food,
walking with some
vigor, I was in