Southern Life

This morning as I left the house, there was an uncharacteristic hint – just a hint – of crispness in the air. No, the frost wasn’t on the pumpkin just yet. It’s still dead-center August in the Southeast, in the midst of what may be the most ferociously hot summer we’ve ever experienced outside of Houston. Yet it was possible to feel the coming change, the inevitable turn of the seasons.

(Photo by Avolore / Creative Commons)

That change signaled itself yet again when I drove past a small mob of parents and their elementary school-age children at the neighborhood’s bus stop. Being the husband of a teacher, I had of course already known that today was the day the schoolkids returned to their classrooms after summer vacation. There’s a big difference, though, between knowing it and seeing it.

I smiled, right then, and waved to the crowd as I went by: None of those parents or kids knew me, I was certain, but it never hurts to be neighborly. Despite my outward smile, however, I was feeling a certain rueful nostalgia.

How long had it been since our daughters were in elementary school – or public school, for that matter? We used to have a tradition of photographing the girls on their first day of school every year. Somewhere in the bowels of our basement there is a series of pictures forming a sort of stroboscopic portrait of their respective childhoods, capturing their gradual change from little children to young women. I thought of my own Snot-Nose Days and my love-hate relationship with elementary school, the bittersweet excitement of returning after the lazy days of July and August, the endless speculation about what this year’s teacher would be like and which of my friends would be in the same class with me.

Those years are past me, now. It’s someone else’s turn to stand there waiting for the bus on the first day of school. Someone else’s job to take those First Day of School pictures. And that’s fine. It’s the turn of the seasons, you know.

The full moon hung low in the western sky as I turned onto the main road, another reminder of the passage of time. Full moon, third quarter, new moon, first quarter… phase after phase, the months and years tick by. There’s still plenty of summer left yet; Fall’s harvest moon is two months away. But it will be here, sure enough.

###
Steve Krodman

Steve Krodman

Steve Krodman, AKA the Bard of Affliction, lives in the steaming suburbs of Atlanta with his wife and two cats. He is partial to good food, fine wine, tasteful literature, and Ridiculous Poetry. Most significantly, he has translated the Mr. Ed theme song into four languages.

4 Comments
  1. Nice narrative. Like you, those years are behind me, too, but I also get a kick out of seeing kids waiting for their school bus. Good imagery of the passage of time. Thank you.

  2. Well said! When we reach 50, we go through a bout of nostalgia. Past 70, we’re relieved that we don’t have the responsibility of restarting the school years with our grandchildren. Once was enough. Trust me…

  3. Mark Dohle

    The years do fly. When reading this I was reminded of the song “blink”; which on the level of inner experience is true. I did not have a love/ hate relationship with school….I just hated it. My fault, I had some very good teachers and I learned in spite of my rebel ways. I kind of sort of write.

    Peace
    mark

  4. Mark Dohle

    LOL sorry for the last sentence, can’t go back and delete, I get a “stack 16 overflow” something or another when pressing the delete button.

    Peace
    mark

Comments are closed.