It was 3:15 a.m., just like the old days, and I was awake. I was thinking about all I needed to do that day.

I got my workout in early. Just like the old days. I didn’t know what time I would be done with my work and I wanted to make sure I got some exercise in. (I don’t run marathons any longer, but I haven’t stopped working out.)

I grabbed a shirt, and a fun tie, and got dressed, just like the old days.

And I got in my car and drove to a school, to be the principal again.

Just like the old days.

***

The request came in the manner of a text message a few weeks ago. A nice school, one I was familiar with through some author talks, was in need of an interim principal. A friend who is an administrator in town texted me with an image of the job posting and asked, “Interested?”

For me, happily in retirement, finishing up three books all to be published in 2026, teaching two college classes, and loving the freedom to visit my children and grandchildren as often as possible, and also loving spending quality time with my wife, the answer to that question is most often, “No. Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

In fact, last summer a school district reached out and asked me to be their principal for the entirety of the 2025-26 school year. I thanked them for the offer, but stated that I was very happily retired.

Sure, to be fair, I came out of retirement to help out Ridgewood last year, but, Ridgewood is Ridgewood. That village owns my heart. I still love and adore the school I retired from. I love the people who made up that community – the students, the teachers, the staff, and the parents. I love them all. I always will.

But this request was different. I knew this school. I had seen the students. I saw their smiles, their kindness, the joy they felt being at school. And I saw the teachers, and how they interacted with the students and each other. And I knew the principal who was leaving (which is never easy, as I obviously know), and I knew that this was a school and district that I had to help.

And now, here I am, a few years older, with a little less hair (if that was even possible), and with whatever hair I have a bit more gray, and with some old suits, and some favorite ties, and (as always) my black sneakers, I’m back at work again.

I just completed my first week as an elementary school principal.

And it was great!

The teachers and staff have given me untold amounts of kindness, respect, and support. The students seem to always smile. The parents have been welcoming. The crossing guards and the resource officers have already become friends. It happens quickly in good places.

There is something special about working in a quality school – there is a special type of wonder that takes place as teachers teach and students learn. There’s a sound that cannot be replicated anywhere that connotates the joys and the wonder of childhood. It’s all very unique. It’s a sound and an atmosphere I have missed being a daily part of.

It’s nice being a principal again.

There are also silly things that transpire. In spite of my explanations, some of the students think that I am Principal Sam. I’m not, of course. I’m Dr. Sem. But the names are close enough to confuse – and I don’t mind. It’s not the names we are called that matter, it’s the feelings behind the names. Children cannot help but be sincere. They look at me, say my name (or what they think my name is) and they smile happily. It is a joy to be with a school full of terrific children again. Some students have already asked me to stay, “forever.”

I never thought I’d be a principal again. And I’m only one for a short time, just until Christmas. In the meantime, while I am “Dr. Sem” again (possibly for the final time), I am enjoying all that that entails.

And while nothing will ever be those years, now long since gone, at a little quiet school in Ridgewood with ducks and astronauts, and all sorts of magic, it’s great.

I am feeling those emotions of old: excitement, anticipation, happiness, and wonder. I’m sitting on classroom floors once again talking with children and reading stories to them. I was even asked to bring in my saxophone…

I forgot what it was like to once again be this tired. It’s a long day – especially when it begins hours before the sun itself decides to wake up. But these are good days. And I’m working with (and hopefully helping) a special school in a special town with special people, who it seems only know how to smile and make me feel like I’ve been with them for years and that we’ve been friends and colleagues forever.

It’s good to be back. It’s great, in fact.

And I couldn’t be happier.