School Family

“I grew up in a very small town. The kind of town where you can’t go anywhere without seeing someone you know. So when I went back for a visit earlier this month, it wasn’t the least bit unusual that I ran into several of my old teachers. What surprised me was how much I remember about being their student.

When I saw Mr. G, my former elementary school principal, I thought back to my first day at the school, which I transferred to in the middle of first grade. Mr. G walked me to my new classroom, which he assured me I’d like. I was shocked that someone so tall (and so old) could be so nice to a little kid. Looking back, it was his kindness (along with the new friends I made at recess) that helped me get past my new-school jitters.

I also caught up briefly with my second grade teacher, Mrs. G (no relation), who taught me to write in cursive. At that age I was incredibly shy and didn’t say much in class. Mrs. G recognized that I was more comfortable writing than talking, and encouraged me to do more of both.

Another day I talked with Mrs. H, my sixth grade teacher. I don’t recall much about our lessons, but I remember a lot about Mrs. H. As we were dealing with our daily adolescent dramas, she kept a reassuring order in her classroom and required that we treat one another with respect.

I’ll bet that every one of you has similar stories of teachers who taught you as much about life as they did math or social studies. As your kids get to know their new teachers, don’t forget to thank them for doing the same thing.

What is it about some grownups that they can’t get within 10 feet of a child during the month of August without reminding the kid that school will be starting soon?

The other night, we were at a student art exhibit where my daughter’s work was on display when a man spied my 9-year-old son sprawled on a couch in the lobby, examining his thumb. My son put himself on the couch in a sort of protective custody after realizing he had just exhausted his parents’ patience by asking for the sixth time in approximately six minutes when we’d be leaving. So there he was, safe from my short temper, inspecting his thumb for any changes since the last time he was mortally bored, when a pleasant-faced man on his way out the door called over his shoulder, “So, what do you think of all those commercials on TV telling you school will be starting soon?”

My son, realizing the man was addressing him, sat up straight and asked the man what he’d just said. The man repeated himself. I watched my son’s expression rearrange itself from one of polite curiosity to acute anguish. The man might as well have approached my child with a pair of pliers to remove his fingernails.

I don’t believe the man was purposely being sadistic. But it would help if people like him remember what it’s like to be a kid in August, clinging to those last free days with the kind of frantic joy that comes from knowing each one is numbered. It’s hard enough to be a kid (what with being dragged out to your big sister’s boring old art exhibits and having your parents get all grumpy on you when all you want to know is when you’ll be going home). The last thing you need is some adult ruining your day by cheerfully reminding you just how soon those numbers will run out.

Argh! They got me. I swore I wouldn’t be sucked into the back-to-school shopping hype until the first day was clearly in sight. But then I saw an ad for 10-cent notebooks.

Just one dime for 70 spiral-bound pages! I just knew the offer would be gone by Aug. 27 (which, in my town, is the day before school begins and which, if past years are any indicator, is when I would have started my back-to-school shopping).

My personal weakness for notebooks propelled me to the store, where across the aisle I spotted boxes of 24-count crayons for 20 cents each. Now, if I took all of the barely used crayons in my home and laid them end to end, they would circle the earth seven times. Yet at 20 cents for 24 crayons (that’s less than a penny each!), I felt it would be irresponsible not to buy a couple of boxes. Then I spotted the glue sticks….

I prefer to delay back-to-school shopping until the last possible moment. If a school supply enters my thoughts before the end of August, I lose my ability to sustain the illusion that summer will last forever. When a school-related television commercial comes on, I mute the sound and pick up a book. On Sundays, I pull open the newspaper, scoop out the stacks of flyers, and dump them into the recycling bin. But despite all of my precautions, that ad for the 10-cent notebooks slipped through. I’m already feeling the chilly fall air.