I walk into the room; I straighten the piles of paper, line up the sharpened pencils, and wait. I wait for the students to enter. I wait for the constant on-the-go day to begin. As I gaze at all the desks perfectly aligned in straight rows and columns, suddenly I’m five years old again.
I’m five years old and I’m sitting in the back of a blue van next to my younger brother in his car seat. I’m wearing my favorite orange dress and bright pink sandals. My Hunchback of Notre Dame backpack sits on the floor in front of my seat. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m a fury of different emotions. What should I expect? Will I learn anything new?
The day flies by and I forget all of my worries. In the morning we color with crayons. We draw pictures of what we did over the summer. At lunch I sit at a table with my new friends. I eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and sip fruit punch out of my juice pouch. After lunch we have story time. We sit in a circle and listen as the teacher reads a fascinating tale of animals on an adventure.
First grade was a new beginning, a time of wonder and learning. I found myself learning something new every day. As each day passed, I grew more and more excited about going to school. There was always something fun to do and something exciting to learn. I learned how to count to a hundred, about the seven continents, and how to write the alphabet. I learned that bees stings hurt, what two plus two was, that Christopher Columbus discovered America, and how to write my first sentence.
The bell rings and I’m snapped out of my reverie. While I’m now standing on the other side of the classroom, those same emotions, those same thoughts I had on the first day of school so many years ago are still present.
Poetry poetry poetry! This is where submissions get a bit more creative than most, and it's a wonder how many HOLers (particularly the eagles) are filled with fabulous artsyness.