Ryan Trares
This was the battle of the irresistible force vs. the immovable object.
Yet there Anthony stood on the first day of school, in his brand new Indy Eleven t-shirt, fluorescent orange shoes and a smile belied by a twinge of worry.
The closer we came to the start of second grade, the more he did not want summer break to end. Who can blame him — the prior two months had been filled with vacations, trips to the pool, fun in the sun, and, when all else failed, lounging around in the air conditioning.
But the start of school waits for no one, even if they’re comfortable laying around in their pajamas.
We had worked hard to face the impending change with enthusiasm; if we were excited for school, Anthony hopefully would be too. And that worked. As we loaded up on school supplies, picked out new shoes and clothes, he got into it.
We were able to visit the school, see his classroom and meet his new teacher. He found out most of his friends from last year were in the class again.
The night before the first day, he helped me pack his lunch (by that, I mean he picked out the items he wanted and watched me assemble them.) He went to bed a little early in preparation for the morning.
And he woke up with minimal complaining. Filled up with a breakfast of eggs and toast, he got dressed and posed for the requisite pictures out front.
Still, for his excitement, there was nervousness in heading into the unknown. Anthony asked how he’d know where his class was, and what to do if he didn’t know. He was concerned that he wouldn’t figure out which line to get in after being dropped off in the morning.
I told him to ask a teacher — they were there to help him. He looked unconvinced, but walked into the building anyway.
The day was a success. Anthony loved everything about his class — his teacher, his classmates, his new status upstairs where the older kids’ classrooms were located.
But he’s still getting used to waking up early. And by “getting used to,” I mean literally dragging his feet as we get ready, acting as if he’s headed to the gallows.
On the ride to school on the second day, he aired his grievances. “School is ruining my life!” he whined. “I can’t believe I have to do this for 179 more days!”
The countdown has already begun.
Still, when we pick him up every day, he’s happy to tell us all about what he’s done. He shows us the work the class has finished, and, until he gets tired of our questions, paints a picture of what second grade is like so far.
My wife and I are looking forward to all of the new ways he’ll grow this year, and what he’ll learn along the way. Anthony really came into his own last year, and we hope he continues to blossom.
I suspect that as his body adjusts to the school-day regimen, particularly going to bed and waking up earlier, his morning complaints will decrease.
And if not, well, there’s only about 170 more days to go.
Ryan Trares is a senior reporter and columnist for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
