By the time I entered ninth grade, I’d been to seven schools in the greater Metro Detroit area. Pre-K in Grosse Pointe (where my dad grew up), then downriver to Trenton (where my mom grew up) for Kindergarten through second grade. A quick jaunt in Farmington Hills for grade 3, then back to Grosse Pointe, popcorning from St. Paul’s Catholic School for fourth grade to University Liggett private school for fifth grade, and then finally some longer, more static stretches, courtesy of the Grosse Pointe public school system: Brownell for middle and Grosse Pointe South for high. Of course, just as the school path got more stable, the home life dismantled, with my parents delivering the “We’re getting divorced” news in the spring of sixth grade. I went from bouncing between schools to bouncing between homes. I got away with a LOT more at my Dad’s house(s), that’s for sure.
But fall was always my favorite, regardless of the address changes (at school or home). I loved – and still love – everything about the season: the colors and flavors, the drop in temperature, and of course, the best holiday ever, Halloween. The kickoff to this glorious time of year was always the trip for back-to-school supplies, and no matter how anxious and angsty things got with a carousel of life changes, a fresh batch of tools somehow always took the edge off. The velcro kiss from opening and closing a new Trapper Keeper, a stack of unscathed wide-then-college-ruled Mead notebooks, Elmer glue sticks (god forbid you mistake one for chapstick), pristine Papermate Pink Pearl erasers, Ticonderoga sunflower yellow pencils with bracelets of emerald green that had yet to ever be sharpened. These weren’t just supplies, they were beacons of possibility. Hope. Fresh starts.
The list itself got more sophisticated each year – as to whether I did as well is a different story for another time – but the love affair with supplies has never ended. I don’t have any (human) kids, and it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been in an actual classroom, as student or teacher, but I still can’t walk past a back-to-school in-store display without stopping. And by stopping, I mean shopping. And stocking up on hope.
XO,
SG
Hopeless Semantic lands in your inbox on Wednesdays. If someone in your life belongs here, send them this way.
Love this!! Same and when I became a teacher even more fun!!