As I walked the halls of our local high school with the kiddo last week, I realized it’s almost the day I’ve been dreading all summer. My son is starting high school and I’m not ready. Period. It’s truly that simple.
Those last days before a new school year starts always leave me feeling flattened. It pushes me back to a world where it seems like there are more questions than answers and it forces me to check my own report card. Have I made enough good memories to counteract the tough days that will surely come? Have we laughed enough to make sure the smiles shine brighter than the scowls the world so often greets us with? Have we played enough? Have we laid on our backs and stared at the stars enough or did I rush us in my ever present, over programmed, micromanaging way, chanting hurry up at every turn, rushing to an end I don’t even really want?
This is the time of year when doubts rush in and overwhelm me and while I’m usually loud enough and busy enough to keep them at bay, the truth is, I feel like I’m free falling, caught in no man’s land, praying I’ve done a good enough job to make a difference. It’s a whole new ballgame for the kiddo and I want to help make these years so awesome for him. So it was back to school we went…
Finding my son’s French room sent my mind back to Latin class and with the memory came a smile. Nancy Wilson was my favorite teacher and to this day I credit her with being one of the biggest influences in my young life. If it weren’t for her, I don’t think I would have gone to college.
|The kiddo soaking in the lake on back to school eve...|
When we made our way to the Biology lab, I smiled and thought about my best friend—the one I met in Ms. Hicks Freshman biology class given we shared a dreaded black table. She’s still my bestie thirty years later and she’s one of the greatest people I know. Good things can happen in high school.
As we wandered into the debate classroom, I thought about the debater I dated who went to a rival school. We often ended up going head to head and while I walked away with the winning record, he handed me my heart in a baggie.
On and on it went as I faced fresh opportunity with my son while remembering my own jagged journey. In my heart, I know it’s just a new season for our family, but still, I can’t help but feel things won’t ever be the same once that dreaded bell rings. Time marches on whether we want it to or not. Now it’s the kiddo’s turn to write the story.