Firsts

Today is the first day of middle school for my son, the first day of 8th grade for my daughter. I've spent the whole day trying not to think about the fact that junior high school was the single worst time of my life and 8th grade the single worst year of my educational experience. And I do mean the whole day. I've been awake since 4 a.m.--possibly because I was afraid I wouldn't wake up with my alarm this morning (after three months of sleeping in, it was certainly possible), and possibly because I'd just had one of those terrible my-child-is-missing nightmares that I tend to have whenever I'm stressed out about something.

My son is shy, like me, so I identify with him a little too strongly on days like this. Since he doesn't have a lot of friends, and since the whole eat-with-your-class dynamic disappears when you make the shift from elementary school, last week I tried to give him a little advice about how to navigate the cafeteria situation: just find someone who looks familiar from one of your classes, sit with whoever they're sitting with, say "Hi guys" when you sit down, and then start eating. Probably, I said, they'll be friendly. Most people are. And if they're not, you can pretend you're too busy eating to talk anyway.

"I don't mind saying hi," he said. "I just don't want to get into a whole conversation."

And thus I realized one of the ways in which my son and I are very different: for me, making the first move was always the agonizing endeavor. Once someone had invited me into a conversation, though, I was fine. For my son, it's precisely the opposite problem: he doesn't want to come up with witty repartee. He'd really prefer to eat his lunch and get on with the school day, thank you very much.

Earlier today I was thinking about the guys I knew in high school and junior high, how most of them didn't seem to run in packs the ways girls always did. In fact, some of the guys I knew best had no single close friend; they had friends from football, from basketball, from band, wherever they spent their time. That realization made me feel a little better. My son is not an unhappy kid--just the opposite--and no doubt I worry about him more than I need to. Having said that, though, let me add that I'll be very, very happy when this day is over and I know everyone survived the experience unscathed.

This is also the first official day of my sabbatical, if by sabbatical we mean days during which the kids are in school and I have many hours for doing my own writing and research rather than teaching. In theory, my sabbatical started with the end of the spring semester--but with the kids at home all summer, I think we all know how much work got done. I did start some research last week, and my brain has been spitting out new ideas at random, and I've been very good about keeping track of them so far. I know this is how the process begins; right now I'm walking around, picking up pieces of a puzzle, trying to imagine what picture they might create. Soon enough, it'll be more like I'm running to catch a bus that may well leave without me.

I'm really annoyed that my laptop chose this moment to fry itself, but at least I'll have a new one for my writing residency. I got the old laptop for my previous residency, four years ago, so it's all kind of fitting: new machine, new project, fresh start. We all need those once in awhile.

UPDATE: All present and accounted for. No major emotional or physical trauma. All's right with the world--for the moment, anyway.