The new high school freshmen seemed to have survived their first day of school. My son’s friends have scattered to public high schools all over the city: LaGuardia, Brooklyn Tech, Murrow, Beacon, Bard. Last night there was a flurry of Instant Messaging; friends reconnecting after of day of change.
Some found their new schools completely boring. One friend, a somewhat flamboyant girl with a flair for the dramatic and a penchant for punky/goth clothes, is now attending a high school in the suburbs She instant messaged my son: "The kids are pretty preppy here. If I’m going to have any friends I am going to have to be preppy."
She’s a survivor. Or a chameleon. Skills that are useful in high school, I suppose.
They’re all just processing what they’re going through and communicating with their peers about it via computer.
My son was mezzo mezzo about his new school, a small, private prep school. The jury is still out, as it were. We’re hoping today makes a better impression on the young man.
In contrast, my daughter’s first day of third grade went exceedingly well. She ironed her khakis and polo shirt the night before and had her pink backpack packed and ready. Her teachers are great and there are a handful of old friends in her class. She’s even sitting next to her good friend, Emma. Last night, she set up her special homework desk and got right to work on her homework.
Park Slope was abuzz with all the energy that the first day of school brings. Anxiety, terror, excitement, anticipation, and hope.
At 3 p.m. there was a line outside of Mojo of parents and kids waiting to buy ice cream. We went to Save on Fifth, which was also crowded with parents buying supplies for public school classrooms: paper towels, Fisko scissors, Kleenex, markers, Ticonderorga #2 Pencils, Post-Its, etc. Buying supplies for the school is a ritual of the first day of public school like a new outfit, backpack and lunchbox.
We all slept well last night and the alarm went off too early. At least it felt like that. Coffee. Toast. The radio. We’re getting back into the swing of things whether we’re ready to or not.