Back to School

In the twin boroughs of Annville/Cleona, Monday marks the official first day of school for students.

I used to both love and dread the first day of school as a kid.

On the one hand, I was one of those kids who found summer “boring” – despite my Mom’s best efforts to keep us busy with sports, vacations, and library cards. On the other hand, I loved being out of doors, playing “Charlie’s Angels” with my sisters, getting into trouble in the woods, and stalking the ice cream truck. One infamous summer, I walked around the ‘hood for weeks with an old fashioned tape recorder doing “man on the street” interviews – much to the neighbors chagrin!

Another summer, my sisters and I spent two months choreographing our own four person production of Grease.

But by the middle of August, I was always ready to return to the dusty halls of Lower Dauphin.

The days leading up to the first day of school were always fraught with anxiety for me – back-to-school shopping (I was always one of those fashion “don’ts” you see in magazines), wondering what classes I’d be in (we never got our final scheduled until day 1), and fretting over where I’d sit for lunch...and with whom.

By the night before the first day of school, I’d be a nervous wreck.

My much more outgoing sisters would be excited to see their friends – and would have spent the day trying on outfit after outfit, trying to find the perfect “first day” clothes.

I’d be worrying about whether or not taking both AP calculus and analysis first semester had been a good idea.

Frankly, I just hoped (and prayed!) that my clothes would match. That no one would make fun of me and that I wouldn’t have to sit alone at lunch.

To the school world at large, I’m sure I seemed like a somewhat confident, dare I say gifted student, who studied hard, had more than her share of leads in school plays, and was utterly focused on getting into college.

But inside, I was shy smart kid, who was more comfortable on stage than off.

The day before the first day of school always ended the same way – with my father drugging me.

Yup – you read that right – he would see me work myself up into such a state, that around bed time, he’d come into my room and give me half a Valium to help me sleep. This became a day-before-the-first-day-of-school tradition for the two of us. It was our little secret.

Years later, he told me he actually gave me half a baby aspirin – a placebo – and like Dumbo with his feather, that half a baby aspirin did the trick – and helped me fly back to school each Autumn.