Tomorrow my son starts first grade. He will put on his new white shirt and dark blue pants, strap his backpack on, and walk up to a brand new classroom in a brand new building to meet a brand new teacher. He is excited.
I am a nervous wreck. I am always a nervous wreck, at least on the inside, whenever my son steps onto the trail of a new adventure. Will his teacher like him? Will he fit into the routine of the class easily? Will I get a lot of phone calls from the principal's office?
My memories of first grade are wisps, hazy smoke hovering in my head. There was my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Walker, who was kind, but didn't leave much of an impression. Mrs. Hunt, my reading teacher, had a very scary and enormous bee hive of a hairdo. I liked to read, and I was good at it. Writing was fun. Math was evil. There were no cliques, no bullies. Everyone played together reasonably well.
What I remember most? School was fun.
I want that for my boy. I want him to love school, to look forward to learning new things, to be entranced by the wonders that education can bring. That is what I wish for every child. I hope and pray that teachers are up to the challenge.