In my formative years, there was many a time when the concept of growing up was presented to me in such a way that the living shit lights were scared right out of me. Let me paint you a picture.
When I was in kindergarten, I had just entered public school for the first time. Before that, I had attended a private, religious preschool that set aside time every day for Jewish studies. You know, trying to round us out as students who could both count to ten and recite the first few pages of the Shemah. (Sorry. I'll save the religion rant for another day.)
Like anybody in a new situation, I was scared. I feared the white, blonde girls and boys who didn't have Persian accents. I feared the ginger teacher who it was obvious had no real concept of the Torah. But most of all I feared being away from home. My preschool was a mere three blocks from my home, and now I had to take a 15 minute drive in order to get to kindergarten. What was this sorcery?!
Nevertheless, I survived. And in fact, I thrived. I made great friends (all of whom are my proud friends on Facebook that I occasionally stalk but never actually see or talk to). I learned the alphabet, I taught myself how to color inside the lines, and I mastered the ever-grappling monkey bars.
And then it was over. Before you could say "Jesus Greg Kinnear," kindergarten had ended. (You're welcome for the Parks reference.) It was at this point that I learned my first valuable lesson, the one that we are reminded of almost every day. Nothing gold can stay, you don't know what you've got till it's gone, I will remember you. Look at that, I just quoted Robert Frost, Joni Mitchell, and Sarah McLachlan all in the same sentence!
Cut to: the first day of 1st grade. Instead of going straight to my new classroom, I, along with my old kindergarten buddies, were herded back into our old room. We were organized into groups and each group sat down at a different table in different chairs, which quite oddly seemed to have shrunk over the summer vacation. A different adult came over to each table.
My old kindergarten teacher stood at the front of the class and quieted us down. She said, "Boys and girls, do you all see the adults at your tables? These are your new teachers. You are going to follow them to your new classrooms!" Her cheeriness was meant to make us feel welcome in this new situation, but she wasn't fooling anyone.
In my head I thought, "You're telling me I have to be in a new class, with a new teacher, with mostly new students?" I was baffled. And here came Lesson #2. It seemed that I couldn't stay in the same place for too long. Life gets in the way. It makes you move and grow and change, and not everyone is going to change with you. And even though it's not up to you who stays in your life and who doesn't, you do get to decide one thing. You are in charge of
how you grow,
how you change. This may attract certain people towards you, due to the general air and grace that comes with being six years old.
We now enter the first grade. It was scarier because I was growing up, yet more exciting because, well, I was growing up. Once again, I had the time of my life. I learned that it was in fact possible to read a book that was more than 10 pages (although books with no pictures would come much later). I discovered the difference between friends, best friends, and best friends in the universe of all time forever and always. (These are in fact the Facebook friends I so often catch up with.) Oh, and I learned how to tell time.
And once again, the year came and went. Lesson 2 was reinforced as I said goodbye to Facebook friend #4 and #7 (see how good a friend I am?) as I left for the summer.
On the first day of second grade, I was naïve. I figured we would once again be taken to our old class and sorted into our new ones. I had steeled myself for this over the summer. I was ready to say goodbye to old friends and old memories and begin my new, classy life as a second grader. (I consider it a great deal of maturity to have grasped the idea of nostalgia at such a young age. But I am far from philosophical, I promise you.)
But the public school system cheated me (in more ways than one). My mom drove me to school that day, walked with me directly to my new class and said goodbye. I was perplexed. Wouldn't I get a chance to say goodbye to the old days? Are they really suggesting I jump into this new routine without knowing what exactly I'm getting into? Devastation hit like a ton of bricks.
The third--but nowhere near final--lesson of elementary school had been learned. This wouldn't be the last time someone metaphorically held my hand through the schooling process and eased me into a new situation. But when the training wheels came off, I was always in for a rude awakening. I think this is a phenomenon that gets the best of us as humans. We expect after a while to be led through life with someone behind us, holding the seat of the bike so we don't fall over. But when the support is gone, we become a wobbly mess and sometimes fall flat on our faces. I guess I learned that it's muscle memory, combined with brain power and willingness to succeed that let's us balance out and ride that bike like it's nobody's business. And if we fail, there's always the helmet to break our fall. Hey, no one said the hand-holding had to go away all at the same time.
Just for kicks, I thought I'd share a couple other little nuggets of wisdom I learned throughout my elementary years.
- Never fall palms-first onto an open, grassy area in springtime; it is likely that a bee will be hiding beneath the blades of grass with it's stinger at attention.
- The monkey bars are great fun until you're sobbing in the nurse's office due to several peeling calluses.
- Valentine's Day cards are a sham; the boy you've had the biggest crush on for ages may have dropped into your bag a "Be Mine" card with little hearts all over it and Mickey and Minnie staring doe-eyed at each other, but that two-timing bastard also gave the same card to every other girl in the class. Talk about disappointment.
