This winter marks the last time I will ever have to go “back to school.”
After 15 years of new pens, pencils, notebooks, backpacks, clothes and friends, I will convocate from university in April and give up my “student” title.
I’ve loved school ever since my parents sent me off to Kindergarten in a little village called Ebenezer in Saskatchewan. My mom still has a picture of me with my new backpack and lunch box, my bangs curled and teased to perfection, waiting for the big, yellow school bus that pulled up to the driveway of our acreage every morning.
I still have the odd memory of my early school days. I was friends with everyone in my class, which wasn’t hard because there were only five of us. I preferred spending my recesses playing football and soldiers rather than hanging out on the swings gossiping.
While most kids spent their summers wishing that they didn’t have to go back to school, I waited for school to start. Sure, I had the odd summer camp, family vacation and hockey camp that made me appreciate summer, but by the time Aug. 1 rolled around, I was ready to go back. I would pester my mom to no end to go buy new school supplies before they were even stocked on the shelves. Once we made it out of the store, I would spend the rest of the summer evenings labelling my new supplies and packing, unpacking and then repacking my backpack.
The rest of my school days are a series of blips on my collective memory, marking the important moments. Like the day our tiny village school closed down due to a lack of attendance. It rained. My mom cried. The day I transferred to a bigger elementary school in Yorkton and met my best friend. The day I graduated to high school, terrified that I would be all alone, lost and wandering the halls without my friends, which is hard to do when there are only two hallways on one level. The day I graduated high school, excited to move away from home to the big city and finally start on the path to my chosen career. The first day of J-school orientation and the field trips and parties that ensued. And today, the day I figured out that next year, I won’t be going back to school.
Doing the math, I’ve spent 60 per cent of my life in school (That’s the closest I’ve gotten to doing anything schoolwork related in months, by the way). The prospect of Kindergarten was scary until I had to transfer schools. The prospect of high school was scary until I had to move away from home, and the prospect of university was scary until I was faced with the fact that there’s no next level of education for me to fall back on after I’m done, only the big, frightening, open work force.
So, for all you kids who are cursing your teachers, dreading gym class or already planning out the days that you’ll miss due to an “illness,” appreciate every homework assignment, test and field trip while you can. One day, you’ll look back and miss it.
