A Fresh First

My first grade teacher's name was Mrs. Gray.  She was a kind, grandmotherly figure who taught me the love of reading, how to tell time, and how to add and subtract.  I still remember the felt apples she kept on the bulletin board that we used to learn our math facts.  So how is it possible when I can vividly remember Mrs. Gray, my classroom, and some fellow classmates, that I now have a first grader of my own?

In a moving article written last year for the Huffington Post, Jennifer Rowe Walters describes this age perfectly.

"We know what six looks like. We know six's gap-toothed smile and its gangly arms and legs. We see how it jumps and dances. How it twirls and runs. We know how funny six is. How absolutely charming it can be. We know six's terrible jokes. We know its crooked "S" and its backwards "3." We see how it teeters on the cusp of the world of books and all the joys of reading, but how it's not quite ready to fall in yet. We see how six can't decide if it wants us to stand beside it or not. We watch it take two steps towards independence and one step back towards us every day. We know how sturdy and strong six is... and yet how frail and fragile.

We know what six looks like. How beautiful it is. How precious. How brightly it shines with promise. How much it looks towards the future... toward 7,8,9... How much it looks like forever."

So with a gap in her front tooth, a backpack still too big for her shoulders, and a confidence in her step, Maddox jumped on the bus today, ready for another year of school.  And all we could do was smile.