Thirty-Some Years Later

I was up early that day. Putting on my new clothes while smelling the aroma of a home-cooked breakfast was part of that ritual. On this particular day in late August, my mom was up early making her usual spread of morning goodness which typically and always included bacon. As every mom did back in those days, she wanted to make sure I had a nutritious meal to take on the first day of a new school year. Sitting on the kitchen table was a lunch box already packed alongside my bag full of school supplies. (We weren’t cool like the kids of today. We didn’t have backpacks — those were for college students.) I knew that after finishing breakfast, I’d have to start the quarter-mile trek down our lane to wait on the highway for the bus to arrive. And so was the beginning of each new school year.

Thirty-some years later, lots of things have changed. Yet some of them remain the same. This morning started quite similarly. I had to make sure that my daughters had a home cooked meal. (A few months from now I’ll likely feel less compelled to do so, but the first day I have to follow Mom’s example). The next few minutes around the house included packing lunches, filling backpacks, and the rush to the garage. You see, my kids don’t have to walk for a quarter-mile to meet the bus. They exit the house to the garage and hop in the SUV with mom as their chauffeur since she teaches in the same school. Some things have changed; others have not.

One of the things that hasn’t changed is how much I love this time of year. There is something refreshing about new beginnings. Something that feels good when you’re putting on new clothes and throwing that new backpack across your shoulders. It seems that we were made for this. It probably goes all the way back to my time on the farm as a child and continues today watching my kids walk through this normal rhythm of life. It’s also probably because, as a former educator, I see what an impact this time of life has on so many. I remember back to those teachers in my life and those experiences at Maconaquah in North Central Indiana. Much of what is happening in the days ahead is shaping our generation and the impact will be felt for generations to come. If you’re a parent, savor these moments because the days turn into years all too quickly. If you’re an educator, teach with the understanding that you are making an impact on lives although you may never see much of the fruit until eternity. And if you are everyone else, wave at the bus driver or the mom who is shuttling kids every morning. This is the rhythm of life, and it’s called back to school.