First days of school can be nerve wrecking. Anxiety sneaks it's ugly toes in right around midnight (maybe sooner) and festers till about 5:30 AM when it magically switches to adrenaline and butterflies simultaneously. As much as you swear on every hood, gang, color, block, kid, dad, heart, God, car, wife, husband, mom and money that you are going to wake up early, get there early and start fresh you don't.
I don't really remember many of my first days of school except one. It was right around the time my mother left my father and switched our schools. It was our first day of and we were starting mid year which was very typical of my mom to do. We were a modern day migrant farmer type family, minus the farming, and moved whenever and wherever my mother wanted.
I was starting 2nd grade and my little sister was starting first grade. From what I remember my mother would always drop us off, but on this particular joyous occasion she decided it would also be a great idea for us to ride a bus for the first time. I was scared more than I was anything else. I felt responsible for my sister. I felt like it was us against the world and I had to cling to her. I walked off that bus as a 7 year old with fear in my heart, big girl face on my head, sister in hand, ready to find our classes, and walk my little sister to hers. I was even more horrified by all the kids that were there. It seemed like all the elementary schools of the world closed down and only this one was available for attending.
I can't really remember if I asked or someone asked me which class we belonged to but I do remember my sister's 1st grade teacher grabbing my arm with a strength that only an old lady with a mean death grip could and started dragging me to my doom.... Would I have the courage to bypass all my fears and insecurities and speak up for myself? Was I really destined to be a first grader again? Uh, no. Not with those mooks and if this old lady can grip me this hard on the first day then I know for sure she wouldn't hesitate to do it again. I had to speak up or this heifer was going to retard me one full year. I said, 'HEY, WAIT, I'm not TurMater!'. She looked at me like SHE was crazy, apologized and I slowly felt the blood pumping into my arm again. My poor sister. I have to ask her that lady's name.
I still had to find my teacher who ended up being an older Japanese woman that taught us how to roll sushi, asked us to write conjunctions on the board and my ghetto ass wrote AIN'T. I really truly thought it was a conjunction and when everyone started laughing I didn't understand why. Then after I thought I was really cool because I made everyone laugh. They had thought I did it on purpose when I really hadn't.
I guess you could say I learned a lot about myself in second grade that I probably didn't realize until the last few years. My 7 year old daughter started her first day in second grade this year and it made me realize how young 7 years old really is and how much I had to endure by her age. Her day of course started off a little different than mine did. We woke up, I showered them and got their clothes pressed while Daddy made her and her little sister who also started preschool breakfast. And not just any old breakfast, they had fresh made pancakes, fresh raspberries, fresh blackberries, bacon, sausage, and eggs all topped in syrup. I never got that. I dressed them, combed their hair and made them as pretty as the time would allow.
Took my Samie to her preschool class where she made it clear that she would like to be addressed by her birth name Abigail. We left about 20 minutes after and took my Lali to her second grade class. Of course we were late. She's in a combination class and I don't mind as much as my in-law's do and naturally all concerns are valid. I just feel like everything happens for a reason. I was forced to grow up really fast and for that I will keep my girls as young as I possibly can.
Reflecting on this moment makes me wish I could hug, kiss, comfort, caress and soothe the little girl I use to be and tell her everything is going to be okay when she gets bigger. Let her know that she may not be able to re-do any more first days of elementary school for herself but that she can make her daughter's first days more pleasant than hers were. Mainly, I hope and pray that the day comes soon when I can think about that poor little girl who was all alone that day with just her little sister by her side not knowing that for the next 12 years that's how it would be, think of all the things she had to endure at her own daughter's age and not cry.
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