Freshman
This past week, I drove to my old high school, my son in the front passenger seat sneaking a sip of my iced caramel coffee, before pulling into the parking lot and finding a spot in the aisle next to the one where I had my designated parking place as a Senior way back in 1995-1996. I checked my purse one last time to make sure I had the forms and adequate proof of residency and we walked towards the back of the school where lines were forming. A young girl asked me if I'd dropped off my registration paperwork yet and I said no, so she directed us to one of the lines. And there I was. Walking back into the cafeteria where we had our Junior Achievement meetings once a week. Where I'd hung out with friends and crushed on boys and frantically tried to finish assignments before the next class. The spot where they had set us up for Senior pictures, Where we filled out paper forms to choose the homecoming court each year. And four years of memories flooded my brain.
But the boy (man child/teenager/whatever he decides is agreeable this week) has no interest in my casually mentioning these things. We go through the first part of the lines quickly and I recall going through and doing the same when I started here at this school in 1992. The boy won't turn 14 until after school starts, so I start worrying about how overwhelming it might be for him as he sees a friend in another line and calls out his name to say hi. We stand in another line where we have to pay an activity fee and I don't recognize any of the teachers stationed at the tables. And then we're ushered out of the cafeteria and into the band room for more lines. I walk through, not having as many memories of this room, but the next room we move into is the chorus room and I say to my son again, how I spent so many hours in this place, where we practiced for Camerata Singers, where we stored our concert dresses, and he listens politely enough until another friend of his comes into the room where he runs over for just a second to see what he's doing for the week that's left of their summer.
We're moved into yet another room, where they take the pictures for yearbooks and student ID cards and then finally into the library (or media center as they call it now), and in to grab a schedule. More lines, more people, but we're moving through as I look around and remember thinking how big I used to feel this place was and how much smaller it all looks now as a parent. We pick up the schedule finally and I see a problem with his classes so off to another line we go. There we get a pass to go to the guidance offices where I didn't spend much time, but I can look around and feel just how "high school" everything is. The sports schedules, the college flyers, the scholarship notices. At last we're done in the office and we decide to walk around to find his classrooms.
The school's gone through a makeover. They've torn down some old buildings, added some new so I'm a little lost at first but we make it to the buildings where most of his classes will be and we find the rooms. This isn't familiar territory for me, but at least it is easy enough for him to get to where he needs to go. And then I stop to take a picture of him before we leave - there on the campus where I had so many dreams and ideas and memories and I force myself to stop from tearing up a bit. I post the picture online and several old classmates give it a like, or drop a comment because it seems unreal that we just left this place and now some of us are at this school, no longer kids, but the adults responsible for one.
He seems comfortable here. But then again, he's in band so he's already spent half the summer in band camp and marching band camp so it's already his place. I still think he will be a little nervous on the first day, especially when the campus is filled with all of the other students, but he will feel at home once the new routine starts.
He's about to enter into some of the best and worst times of his life. The friendships, the heart breaks, the pressure of grades and social life. I pray he makes better choices, but even if he doesn't always, I pray he knows that I will be there to help him get through it. Our lives are in transition, where he still needs me, just not as much. And I want to hold on for as long as I can.
But the boy (man child/teenager/whatever he decides is agreeable this week) has no interest in my casually mentioning these things. We go through the first part of the lines quickly and I recall going through and doing the same when I started here at this school in 1992. The boy won't turn 14 until after school starts, so I start worrying about how overwhelming it might be for him as he sees a friend in another line and calls out his name to say hi. We stand in another line where we have to pay an activity fee and I don't recognize any of the teachers stationed at the tables. And then we're ushered out of the cafeteria and into the band room for more lines. I walk through, not having as many memories of this room, but the next room we move into is the chorus room and I say to my son again, how I spent so many hours in this place, where we practiced for Camerata Singers, where we stored our concert dresses, and he listens politely enough until another friend of his comes into the room where he runs over for just a second to see what he's doing for the week that's left of their summer.
We're moved into yet another room, where they take the pictures for yearbooks and student ID cards and then finally into the library (or media center as they call it now), and in to grab a schedule. More lines, more people, but we're moving through as I look around and remember thinking how big I used to feel this place was and how much smaller it all looks now as a parent. We pick up the schedule finally and I see a problem with his classes so off to another line we go. There we get a pass to go to the guidance offices where I didn't spend much time, but I can look around and feel just how "high school" everything is. The sports schedules, the college flyers, the scholarship notices. At last we're done in the office and we decide to walk around to find his classrooms.
The school's gone through a makeover. They've torn down some old buildings, added some new so I'm a little lost at first but we make it to the buildings where most of his classes will be and we find the rooms. This isn't familiar territory for me, but at least it is easy enough for him to get to where he needs to go. And then I stop to take a picture of him before we leave - there on the campus where I had so many dreams and ideas and memories and I force myself to stop from tearing up a bit. I post the picture online and several old classmates give it a like, or drop a comment because it seems unreal that we just left this place and now some of us are at this school, no longer kids, but the adults responsible for one.
He seems comfortable here. But then again, he's in band so he's already spent half the summer in band camp and marching band camp so it's already his place. I still think he will be a little nervous on the first day, especially when the campus is filled with all of the other students, but he will feel at home once the new routine starts.
He's about to enter into some of the best and worst times of his life. The friendships, the heart breaks, the pressure of grades and social life. I pray he makes better choices, but even if he doesn't always, I pray he knows that I will be there to help him get through it. Our lives are in transition, where he still needs me, just not as much. And I want to hold on for as long as I can.
(Super awful freshman yearbook photo - seriously don't know why I thought short hair was a good idea for me at the time. Also, Ribbed v-neck horizontal stripe shirt Krista? Really? Glad my fashion choices improved immensely over the past 20 years!!!)
Comments
Post a Comment