There’s something about this time of year that tickles the nostalgia in me. I love seeing the supermarket bins tumbling over with BOGO boxes of crayola crayons. (You’ve read my blogs; you know how I feel about crayons!) Walmart aisles stacked with three-hole-punch lined paper, plastic bottles of white glue, binders and files in every color and pattern. Everything new and perfect…another fresh start…this could be one terrific school year. We might even learn something; well…let’s not go overboard.
Has anything more perfect ever been created than a brand new composition notebook? Listen to the crack of the spine, run your fingers over those pristine white pages. It would be at least a week before the potato chip grease set in. Ahhh, but for now…perfection. That unmistakable speckled cover. All those white splotches we would fill in with ink while the teacher was saying something…oh, yes…a homework assignment. Well, we’d just call a friend later and find out what that was all about.
Ticonderoga #2 pencils, sharpened to a pin point. New gym shorts. Clean. New sneakers. Un-scuffed. The smartest back-pack. Nirvana.
It was a honeymoon that for many of us would last about two weeks. That’s how long it usually took for the new pencil case to turn black from the pen with no cap, and for that little designer pencil sharpener to spill its shavings everywhere–an accident made especially unfortunate by forgetting to tighten the lid on the glue bottle.
By then, also, we’d have left our assignment book on the seat beside us at Wendy’s, spilled Diet Coke all over a library book. And…well…you know…the dog ate our homework, the school bus ran over our science project, and the back-pack had morphed into a dumpster. It was also clear that the math teacher took no prisoners.
Things would get a little better…that special person we liked, liked us back. Things would get a little worse…parent-teacher night. Still…like Camelot…there was that one brief, shining moment when it was all harmony and delight.