First day of high school.

I drove my son to school today, his first full day of high school. It’s a short trip, but it was long enough to give me a curious, time-machine-like glimpse into the next four years. He sat there in the passenger seat, probably (hopefully?) mentally reviewing the laundry list of things I had just ticked off for him to remember: bring your notebooks to class, put extra pencils in your locker, find out where your gym locker is, get to the Campus Center early so you can get a seat for lunch, write down your homework, learn the names of your peer counselors…. He stared out the window while I maneuvered the too-big Yukon on the suddenly, post-summer crowded streets and watched his entire high school career flash before my eyes. I saw him playing soccer, making saves and winning games. I saw him sitting in assemblies, taking tests, running around the track in gym, going to semi-formal dances and Sweet Sixteen parties, getting his permit, driving his friends to The Fireplace for a double lunch, asking some girl to the prom, taking the SATs, visiting colleges and walking on the field at graduation. Suddenly we were there at Brookside and Ridgewood Ave. He looked too small…how could he possibly walk into the high school? Wouldn’t the security guard turn him away at the door? But that must have been an optical illusion, a Mom-illusion, because as soon as he got out and joined the students streaming toward the building, he fit right in.

I always feel restless on the first day of school. To me, this is “new year’s day,” more than January 1. It feels like a much more accurate marker for the passage of time, and it's always somewhat melancholy. What in the world I’ll do when my son no longer heads out every morning toward RHS, I can’t imagine. Maybe time will magically stand still. I literally cannot envision it. So I won't. For now, I'll do what I always do this time of year: clean my office.