Day One

On Friday afternoon, when all the teachers were dashing around our school, preparing for this day that we thought might never come, I had a moment of quiet reflection. It came in a first grade classroom. I looked at the empty desks and chairs, and then looked at the name tags carefully taped there by their incipient teacher. I thought about all the years that I have been in that building, waiting for the first day of school, knowing that those chairs would soon be filled, and those desks would soon contain books and papers until they were full and overflowing. On Friday there were no kids. Monday would be different.
The first day of school has a Christmas morning feel to me now. Kids running from group to group, asking each other, "Who'd you get?" "Is she new?" "What room are you in?" Weeks or hours or just minutes of anticipation have paid off in the knowledge of where they will be spending the next nine months, and with whom they will be spending them. There are some sad faces. Some are scared. But most of them are happy. They are glad to have a place to be five days out of every week. They know when recess will be, and where the lunch room is. Except for the kindergartners. They cling to their parents' hands and look anxiously around at the building with so much room and so many new faces. I know that it will only be a few days before they are running from the water fountain to the play structure and listening for the bell that calls us all back to work.
There will be some tears, and not just from the youngest ones. Fourth grade boys will be confounded by the sudden maturity of the girls that used to play four square with them. Second grade girls will seek to curry favor with their teacher by helping in any way possible. Fifth grade boys will hang around under the basketball hoops, trying to take in the fact that they are now the rulers of the roost. Then it will be time to go inside and find your seat: the one with your name so neatly written and taped to your very own desk. And so it begins anew.