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  • Writer's pictureDev Friedlander

My Favorite Date

My favorite date is September First. Why? Because it’s the beginning of the end of the intense summer heat, the first day of school where I live, and the most memorable day of my life, my wedding anniversary. If you’re wondering which one of those things is my favorite, I honestly will struggle to give you an answer. They are all wonderful. Ah, who am I kidding? My favorite is waving goodbye to my children as they march into their classrooms on the first day of school.

In our house, the first day of school really begins the night before. The girls eagerly pack their backpacks, full of books and school supplies. They pick out their outfits, a school shirt with the school emblem and a skirt. Then they take baths, wanting to be fresh and pretty for their first day. No one puts up a fight at bedtime. They all want to be on time for the first day.

The day usually starts the same way each year with one of the girls flinging my bedroom door open, announcing, “its 6:15, get up or we’ll be late!” Bangs and thuds reverberate through the apartment as the girls rush to be ready on time. At 7:15 we are on our way to school. If I have it my way, we will all be walking in a neat little row, talking excitedly about new classmates and teachers. If the girls have their way, we will be driving to school, and parking in the school parking lot where the girls have exactly ten seconds to exit the car before the next car pulls in behind me.

When I get home, my husband and I jump in the car and head off for a celebratory breakfast, learning from experience that while we may be going out to celebrate our anniversary, we are competing with every other parent in the city who is celebrating the first day of school. It’s a fight to find a table at every café in town.

When we are done enjoying our wonderful breakfast, we usually go for a nice walk, or some other place that children would find boring. We return to make lunch for the girls, usually something unhealthy and fun, like pancakes or fries. The door bangs open at 1:30, the girls cry with joy at the sight of the food before them. They dig into their lunch while telling us about every part of their first day. Plates are left on the table as backpacks are emptied and homework time ensues.

In the evening, the girls fight bedtime. The freshness of the first day of school has worn off already. One girl tells me they need money for a book that the teacher wants them to buy, another says she has the wrong colored pencils, the third decided she doesn’t like her sneakers preferring the ones her friend has.

Still, I keep my good cheer, and remember, tomorrow the children will go back to school.

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