It’s the end of the first week back at school for thousands of students, from kindergarten to university. In recognition of their return, here’s an almost-but-not-quite-true tale from a long time ago, about me going back to school…and dreading the idea!
Today is the big day, the day when I have to go back to school. The end of summer has come and gone…the time of year when news media publish articles aimed at all those mothers whose children are getting ready to go back.
ALMOST THERE, MOM! or RELIEF IN SIGHT! are the headlines accompanying the stories, the point being that the world’s parents, fed up to the teeth with their children, must joyfully be anticipating the beginning of the new school year.
That’s certainly the case with my mother, who, it seems, can hardly wait to get me out of the house!
Back when I was in the primary grades, going back to school was an exciting time. I remember going out with my mother to do some shopping during the week before school started. Clothes were always on the list, but my mother generally looked after that aspect. The purchases that interested me were things like coloured pencils and a new lunchbox, things that reassured me I was starting fresh, embarking upon what was sure to be my most successful year yet. Hope sprang eternal.
At home with my new stuff, I’d spend considerable time organizing and planning. I’d get rid of all the leftover junk from the previous year, print my name carefully on the new stuff, and decide what clothes I wanted to wear on the first day back. By the Friday before the Labour Day weekend, I was ready!
In some ways, things haven’t changed much now that I’m older. Last week, I helped my mother as she chose new clothes for me to wear, I got my hair cut, and I stocked up on school supplies. But there is one big change now, compared to before, a huge change! I’m no longer excited about going back anymore, not at all.
My mother woke me this morning, yelling up the stairs. “Time to get up! First day of school! Let’s go!”
I stayed in bed, trying to convince myself I was sick, but she finally came into my bedroom to get me going.
“Hurry up!” she scolded. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
“I don’t wanta go back to school, Ma,” I whined.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, pulling back the covers. “Everybody’s going back.” She lay out the clothes I’d be wearing on the bed for me.
“Nobody likes me,” I whimpered. “All the kids hate me!”
“Nobody hates you,” she said, pushing me down the hall to the bathroom.
“They do so!” I said. “And none of their parents like me either!”
“How do you know that? Most of their parents don’t even know you.”
“Yeah, but the ones who do think I’m a jerk!”
“I’m sure they don’t,” my mother insisted.
“Not only that,” I protested, “the teachers don’t like me either!”
“Don’t be silly!” she said, pulling the bathroom door closed after ushering me inside. “Now get washed, get dressed, and get downstairs for breakfast!”
It continued when I got to the table. Dawdling over my cereal, I said, “I hate school, Ma! The work is too hard. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.”
“That’s just silly,” my mother said. “You’re very clever. You just have to stick to it and everything will be fine.”
Pushing my unfinished cereal bowl away, I said, “I think I’m gonna be sick. I don’t feel very good!” I held my stomach to punctuate my claim.
“You’re not sick!” she said. “You’re just a little nervous about the first day back, that’s all. Once you get there, everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
“It won’t be fine!” I whined. “Nothing’s gonna go right, I just know it! Please, Ma! I don’t wanta go back to school!”
“You have to go!” my mother declared, a touch of steel creeping into her voice now. “Everybody else is going, and you have to go, too!”
Why?” I cried. “Why do I hafta go?”
“You know why,” she said. “You’re the principal!”
And so here I am. It’s gonna be awful!
Man, I don’t miss school at all, except for the social aspects. All that reading and studying and test-taking. Ugh!
My two worst years were grade 11! 😜
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