When I was a kid in the Midwest, school started the day after Labor Day. As a teacher in Arizona, we began school the beginning of August. It was so hot there, the kids might as well have been in the AC, though the teachers would have preferred vacationing in Alaska. Here in the foothills of North Carolina, today was the first day of school.
Yesterday, the kids next door played outside until dark, having their last hurrah. Little Al, who is beginning the first grade, admitted he was excited and a little nervous. I had my teacher-back-to-school nightmare last night, where the kids were running wild, and wouldn’t listen to me. It was the first time I’d had that dream in a couple of years, but this morning I was filled with a quiet peacefulness. The weather was crisp. Our temperature was in the high 60’s at 6 AM. The dogwood leaves already have a reddish tint, and the willows have turned yellow, and are shedding leaves.
I was joyful at yoga class today, ate lunch on my deck, and read until I got sleepy at noon. I thought about those kids all day long, and how the teachers had prepared for their start. Though the back-to-school wasn’t mine, apparently, a teacher never really loses the feeling of this time being a new beginning. I was just beginning other things.