I’ve always loved+dreaded this time of year.  Dreaded because it meant the end of lazy afternoons stretching from freedom to boredom.

But more, loved, because as a child (then as a teacher), September meant a clean slate - infinite possibility - even redemption.

Maybe this would be the year I stopped having yogurts break open in my backpack and get all over my books.

Maybe this would be the year I stayed on top of my homework and didn’t feel contantly behind.

Maybe this would be the year the cool kids would include me playing four-square at lunch.

These examples sound a little sad to me, but I wasn’t sad, I was abundantly (overly?) hopeful.  I’d say “optimistic” but I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t take the ownership of the solution.

water-stone-small.jpgI could hardly wait to start school and to see if the long summer afternoons had transformed something in me, in us.   I had this sense of discovery, of boldly going someplace new — and possibly wonderful.

On the one hand, it was nonsense, and each year led to inevitable dissapointments and dashed hopes.  But at the very same time I was right, year after year.  Somehow I learned to leave my yogurt in my locker instead of my lunchbox.  Somehow I because a straight-a student.  Somehow I met wonderful people who love me for who I am.

In the magic of passing summer days, I learned something about work, something about participating in the world, something about integrity.  In my child-mind it would all happen by itself with the dawning of a new year.  Now, as an adult I see that change mostly came from doggedly sticking with it.

In any case, these days of raw potential — of renewal, of hope, of infinite possibility — have stayed with me, and still fill me with a trieste for the end of summer mixed with a wonder at what we can become.