How I See It...

It is the first day of school. I am wearing new shoes that smell so good I took an extra whiff this morning (knowing of course, that would be the last time I could do so before they began to smell of sweat, not freshly manufactured goods). I am also wearing a new outfit, stiff with store-starch and creases, and Mom carefully put my hair into a ponytail this morning. I am scrubbed clean. On my back is a new backpack that has not yet lost its shape, and in said backpack are fresh, clean, new supplies just waiting to be used: a crayon box filled with that comforting crayon smell; freshly sharpened pencils with perfect, unused erasers; pudgy little "pink pet" erasers that would most likely not be used for erasing but would instead be picked apart in moments of curricular boredom; notebooks ready to be filled with knowledge; Lisa Frank or kitten folders and trapper-keepers-- the beginning of organized bliss! What's more, I also have in my possession a brand-new Mickey and Minnie lunchbox, complete with thermos that is filled with pineapple-orange-banana juice. There is most certainly a note from Mom inside.

I shyly walk onto the playground. It's still a little warm, but there's a cool breeze reminding me that my favorite season is on the way. I haven't seen most of my classmates for three months, and some of them have really grown taller. All are scrubbed clean, and the boys have their hair combed as neatly as if it were picture day. The new shoes, clothes, and backpacks gleam with the splendor of "back-to-school," and there's a bit of pride in each young face.

Inside, the room is clean and organized, with lots and lots of apple paraphernalia. My name is on my desk, my books, my supplies: I am expected and wanted here. The teacher is excited and smiley, the students are nervous and anticipatory. I love school.



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It is the first day of school. I am wearing the only shoes I know I can stand up in for eight hours. I could not afford a new outfit, so instead I wear whatever looks professional, stylish, and commands respect. I took less time than usual on my hair this morning because I was so tired that I got ready too slowly and started running late. I am scrubbed clean, yet wear a layer of sweat in this Florida heat. On my arm is an over-stuffed purse filled with everything that should be in my desk and not in my purse; what's more, I have in my possession a plastic Target back filled with a peanut butter sandwich, apple, and a 100-calorie pack. There is certainly no note, unless of course I write one to myself to remind myself to bring the cupcakes or drop off the movies.

I frenziedly walk into the school, drop off the cupcakes, and make my way to the parking lot where I watch all the students roll out of their cars in their new shoes, clothes, and backpacks. It's 8:00 a.m., but it's already ungodly hot and it's so humid that my hair shrinks two inches. I haven't seen most of my students for two and a half months, and some of them have really grown taller. All are scrubbed clean; the girls' hair has grown inches and the boys' hair has been cut inches. There is an air of doom and gloom in the sorrowful yet expectant faces I meet with a smile.

Inside, my room is clean and organized. In my compulsiveness I am dreading the entrance of the students which will inevitably lead to a room that is less clean and organized. There is no apple paraphernalia. My name is on the list of outside, lunch, and devotional duty: I am expected here. I act excited and smiley; the students are nervous and anticipatory and a little bit more brazen than I ever remember being. Somehow, even so, I love school.



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It's interesting how point of view changes when you go from the classroom to behind the desk...