On my way home from work today, I passed the elementary school near my home and saw the families leaving "Back to School Night." They had the telltale signs of having just attended the beginning of the school year extravaganza with the requisite papers clutched in one hand and little Johnny in the other. A quick glance up to the informational sign on the corner of the school yard confirmed what I already knew from dozens I had attended over the years. In that instant, memories flooded back to me.
From my firstborns first day at the sweet preschool all my kids attended run by an old woman and guarded by a giant tortoise named Daisy who had been at the school since some of the parents had attended thirty years prior, the parade of memories of school events washed over me like a warm bath and I was transported back to when my life was very magical and simple and I luxuriated in the joy my children experienced.
I remembered feeling I was being healed from my own traumatic childhood as I held my children's hands and walked through their wonderfilled childhood moments, each and every one. Those years at the magical preschool evolved into the elementary school years where my kids enjoyed the learning disguised as play at the progressive school I chose for them because it was so different from the structured religious and Ivy League prep school education I endured. Now that I look back on it, I orchestrated through my careful selections that my kids would be kids for as long as possible and I got to be one a little bit too.
As a boy and his family crossed at the light where I was waiting, I noticed his Spiderman backpack and remembered the year my 7 year old son wouldn’t answer to anything but "Spiderman" for six months and burst out laughing. At that moment, the family turned and looked at me alone, behind the wheel, laughing hysterically and picked up their pace across the street.
I am not one to reminisce. In fact, I very rarely look back. I am not a scrapbooker, I don’t surround myself with pictures of my children’s youth and I don’t own a single video of my kids rites of passage. But recently, I have been flooded with memories and some real sadness as I accept that I will never walk some very sweet paths again.
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