School Daze

Today was the first day of school for a nearby elementary. Typically, during summer, my husband and I take morning walks so Zoey, my angry Chiweenie, can collect and catalog tall grasses of pee-mail.

We encounter few people — a gaggle of supercharged moms in LuLu Lemons strutting past, a lone jogger here, a fast-pacer there, beachcombers gunning over wooden bridges, and elderly couples pushing ancient Yorkies in canine strollers.

However, today, the air was frenzied with a palpable sense of excitement and anticipation. The trail around my favorite lake butts up against homes, where I spied parents clicking away photos of children shouldering oversized backpacks, grinning toothlessly back.

The usually serene path was bustling with people, primarily females, fast walking in twos, like fashionable Noah’s Ark passengers.

At one point, we had to jump off the sidewalk as a kajillion kids and guardians biked past, metallic bells ringing in their wake.

I was never one of those parents who slumped at the elementary school doors, bawling my eyes out as my kindergartners toddled inside to start their new lives.

However, as I watched the parade of yellow buses and parents lined up with their Mini-Mes grasped in each hand at the crosswalk, I felt a tear in my heart — a fissure opened in my soul echoing those bygone days.

I mourned that sliver of time that was chalk-full of bedtime routines, play dates, Halloween costumes, fundraising fairs, and back-to-school nights. I missed my children when they were young.