I Would Send You a Bouquet of Newly Sharpened Pencils

Ezra started first grade today.  New school. I was a pillar of strength. There was no crying on my part, but I would be lying if I told you I didn't want to follow his line- right into his school.

It's funny, how some things never change. Like the smell of school- all floor polish and chalkboard dust, familiar and heady with days and children gone by. School is an old friend who was tucked out of mind for the summer, and who unfailingly welcomes you in the fall, to learn and to play and to dream. I remember so many of my first days, and the excitement and anticipation leading up to them. Buying school supplies, buying new clothes, going for last swims, last of summer ice cream cones, last of summer bike rides, finding out who was in your class, what classes you were going to take, (and later- what classes you were going to drop), packing supplies in your book-bags, peeling the price-tag off of a new Snoopy lunchbox, dreaming of the next day, waking up waaaay to early the day of (or years later, waking up waaaay to late...)seeing friends, making friends, meeting teachers....It all comes back to you in a moment, in a heartbeat- all of that time spent in school- memories that push themselves to the forefront of your mind as you stand there watching your child march off in a line you yourself desperately want to dive into- if only just for a moment, for a heartbeat. But this line isn't meant for me. A cold hard fact that isn't particularly welcome, but astonishingly true. It's meant for him, for them- as the doors open wide and school welcomes them all in again to learn, to play and to dream.