If you see teachers from nearby schools out late drinking and crying, it is Labor Day.
If you see teachers from nearby schools out late drinking and crying tears of joy, it is Memorial Day.
If you have recently reconnected with a dozen people you never talk to in a fantasy football group chat, it is Labor Day.
If you have recently made plans with four different couples to go on four separate beach vacations, it is Memorial Day.
If your children have begun frantically reading books you have never seen before, it is Labor Day.
If your children are tossing their books into empty oil drums and lighting them on fire, it is Memorial Day.
If there has been a noticeable uptick in people recommending you rewatch Saving Private Ryan, it is Memorial Day.
If there has been a noticeable uptick in people recommending Cider House Rules to you, it is Labor Day.
If the number of people attending your gym suddenly increased, it is Memorial Day.
If the number of people deciding to just get chicken fingers and fries for lunch at the pool snack bar has increased, it is Labor Day.
If someone asks whether you would like to donate to a veterans’ fund even though you thought “vet” only referred to, like, people who fought in Vietnam, it is Memorial Day.
If someone asks whether you would like to donate a sapling to a community garden, they are just confused and think it is Arbor Day. But it is Labor Day.
If veterans politely respond “I’m not dead” to people’s “Happy Memorial Day Weekend!” it is Memorial Day.
If the working people halt their conveyor belts and shake each other’s hands, shouting, “Hurrah for doing our part!” it is Labor Day.
If the warm winds of spring are blowing flower blossoms down your cobblestone street in the golden afternoon light, it is Memorial Day.
If there is a heat advisory and invasive beetles from Asia are devouring your trees, it is Labor Day.
If you are comparing surf school prices and times, it is Memorial Day.
If you are pitifully struggling to stay on top of a boogie board, it is Labor Day.
If you are drinking margaritas and Kona beer, it is Memorial Day.
If you have given up and are back on Manhattans, it is Labor Day.
If you are jealously watching your neighbors move on a perfect seventy-degree day, it is Memorial Day.
If you are fighting with your girlfriend in 90 percent humidity and the U-Haul you picked for that day is too small to move in one trip, it is Labor Day.
If you and your classmates are all staring up at an analog clock on the wall and the minute hand seems to be slowing down as if by magic, and the teacher is droning on even though there wouldn’t be any work assigned on the last day of school, and then finally the hand strikes three o’clock, and everyone’s eyes widen in unison before they run out of the school, including the principal, who is unloosening his tie and putting on sunglasses, as old papers and reports are all thrown into the air as if the very speed of the students’ exits propelled them out of their backpacks, it is Memorial Day.
If you are standing on a beach in California singing “Summer Nights,” you are Danny Zuko, and you’ll have to straighten up if you want to keep her, kid, because it is Labor Day.