Ah, the first day of school is upon many of us.
Not my wife and me, mind you. Our sons are middle-aged men now. One of them has kids of his own, one of whom today trudged off to middle school. An older boy is starting college soon. The baby girl, of course, is not yet 3, but her Big Day is coming.
But all these social media posts from friends sending their children to school brings back strange memories for me.
Many decades ago, in hometown of Portland, Ore., I used to enjoy going back to school. Although for the life of me I don’t know why.
I was a terrible student. I actually detested school. I disliked the academic competition that existed between the honorĀ students and the rest of us. We never called it such, but there was this feeling — particularly among some of us who didn’t measure up to those smarty-pants’ high standards — that we were somehow “inferior.”
But I’d spend the summer months doing this or that. When time came for Mom to take me shopping for new clothes, well, I always enjoyed getting new shirts, pants, socks and maybe even a new pair of tennis shoes.
Did I miss my friends? I guess so. I had enough pals living nearby to see during the summer break, but there were others I would enjoy seeing again once the bell rang for the start of the school year.
The allure would fade quickly as I would struggle with my school subjects. I’d get poor grades on the work I turned in. I’d struggle through the school year and just as I was anxious for it to start, I became equally anxious for the school year to end.
Maybe I just liked the change. I would become bored, perhaps, with being at home all the time during the summer. I was ready to immerse myself in something different — if not necessarily better or more enjoyable.
But I do enjoy watching and reading about the children heading off to a new adventure today. It’s all about growing up and finding one’s way.
I wish the kids today all the very best.