That morning will never evade my memory: rainy, a slight chill in the air, and a child’s naïveté contained in a brand new, colorful outfit. It was the first day of school for me, ever. I finally reached preschool. No more bouncing from my babysitter’s house to mine. I was running with the “big dogs.”
My mother took me in to the large, church-like building. Both of us, marching in, hand in hand, me, happy as can be. I reached the threshold of the door, let go of my mother’s hand, and took on the three girls playing with the Barbies and dollhouse on the floor. Life was as happy as can be.
Fast forward two years. It’s that time again: school has come back to swoop me away from summer bliss. This time, it’s first grade, and yes, it was gloomy, slightly chilly, and a child’s innocence still was present.
My family and I waited on the corner in our car. My parents would look at me, look at each other, and I would look up at both them with the most innocent gaze. After moments of this, I moved closer to the window to get a better look at what was coming for me, and it suddenly arrived.
The yellow bus that came around the bend was the first I had ever been on. Every storybook I had read about school up until that point was coming true.
My dad and I got out of the car to meet the bus. The driver opened the door with a smile and I once again, let my dad’s hand go, and found a seat next to my next door neighbor. I waved goodbye and smiled at my parents as I rode away. Nothing could have stopped me.
Now, fast forward eleven years to the start of junior year. This year was one of the most exciting times of my school career, and it all revolves around one word: license. Not only was I an upperclassman, but I had my license and I was driving to school. My first day of junior year was pretty cloudy, had some warmth to it, and though I thought I knew everything, the youthful mind still remained. Not thinking twice, I got ready, grabbed the keys, and kissed my parents goodbye. I, once again, let go of their hands.
Pause. Through all these times I never looked back. When I entered that preschool classroom, I never looked to see my mother’s distress. When that bus came, I never thought twice about my dad’s shaking hand in mine. And when the shining key was placed in my hand, I never looked back at their faces when I walked out that door. I never thought about how their tears, on those occasions, carried so much weight in them.
The fall is nature’s way of saying it has reached its pinnacle, and let the old life go and prepare for renewal. It is the inevitable process of maturity.
Question: What does Fall mean to you?
