I discovered the wonderful month of June when I was 7 years old. We finished cutting out George and Abe’s heads in Miss Carolyn Blades’ first grade class in the middle of February. That was OK. But March must not have been a good month for presidents. We just did arithmetic and reading, and every Friday we lined up for those gosh-awful spelling contests. May was no better and it began to get insufferably hot in that small class room.
“When does this thing end?”
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