August. It means a lot of things. The end of summer. The kind of Florida heat that makes lava look like Laffy Taffy. When the tropics fire up and start shooting storms at us like a baseball pitching machine.
Most of all, August means it’s time to start thinking about kids going back to school.
As a parent, I’ve found that some years the return to the academic realm feels routine and unremarkable. I just have to remember where my daughter’s school is (I don’t), that I need to start waking up earlier again (I can’t) and that I need to resurrect that wonderful routine of screaming like a drill sergeant, “GET OUT OF BED NOW, CHILD!!! YOU ONLY HAVE THREE MINUTES UNTIL FIRST BELL!!!”
No problem.
But then there are years that come with extra bits of emotional baggage. The milestone years. Like when you start a new school level: pre-school, elementary school or middle. They’re new and scary and signify the start of some brand new journey in life.
OR … you get set to finish a level, which is where we are this August as we launch into eighth grade.
EIGHTH grade! The last one before high school. Dum-dum-Dummm!
It’s getting real, folks.
Routine, and yet all the emotional baggage. Because it’s a piece of cake this year. We know the school. We know the drill. Our daughter is going to be some kind of orientation leader so she can help 6th grade newbies better learn and acclimate.
I would call it all mundane IF NOT for the fact that I know this is also big time. Eighth grade is the closing out of the junior years as we emerge into the young adult ones. It’s like the moon shot. Uncharted territory. A land where I have no map, no compass and a pretty good inclination that I will freak-out a lot and pretty much say the wrong thing at every turn.
This summer my daughter took an online algebra program to get her ready for a math class she will be taking. It was horrible. If evil nations wanted to torture spies, this is what they should use. In just a couple seconds they could extract whatever information or confession they wanted. It was cruel and painful and made me understand that the world is an angry, corrupt and vile place filled with weird numbers and strange words that don’t make any sense.
I mean, what the heck is an “integer” or a “commutative property?” And how can numbers be “irrational?” Numbers can’t be irrational! I’m irrational … like when I start screaming, “I don’t know what the answer is, child! I suck at algebra! I’ve never used it in my life … STOP TORTURING ME!!!”
And it gave me a glimpse of this new world we’re moving into. High school, young adulthood, boys, life. It’s all going to be like algebra – lots of weird words and not a bit of it makes any sense.
I was out running the other night, and as I passed three women walkers, I heard one say, “So, explain that thing about kindergarten again.” That’s all I heard. That’s all I needed to hear.
I wanted to stop and say, “I’ll explain it. All you need to know is, it’s easy. It’s super simple. It all makes total sense, even when you don’t realize it, and while it might seem terribly scary now, you don’t know what scary is.”
And then, right before running off, I would say, “Just wait until the ‘integers’ come for you!”