First Day of School

So apparently, according to my mother, I am an odd duck. I used to look forward to the first day of school with fervor. The smells of your new shoe leather, the classroom and supplies. The feel of your new first day dress, and perfect September air. Everything was new, and fresh, and full of promise. Which teachers would you end up with? The ones who drove you crazy with their stupidity, or the ones who picked your brain and tested your limits? Would your friends be in your class, or in your lunch? What about the guy you had a crush on?
My own daughter is dreading the first day, which tears me apart. She had a terrible experience last year, and is sure that from now on, that is what school will be. There are times when I want to just grab her and tell her everything will be all right. She will have great teachers, and terrible ones. She will make some amazing friends who will give her such nostalgia in later years, and she will have some friends who will make me cringe when she brings them home. She will have good days, and bad days, but the good days will outnumber the bad. There will be a lot of learning experiences that will be invaluable to her for her entire life. But these are things that she won't hear me on. I am an old woman, I know nothing about what it is like to be in second grade. She doesn't think I remember that my second grade teacher wore a red dress on the first day of school, that I learned to ride my bike without training wheels that year, that Mark Perry broke his arm and we got to sign his cast, that Laura Perez told me there was no Santa Claus. She doesn't think I remember the feeling of being the new girl in school, or the embarrassment of when my wraparound skirt fell off in the hallway after recess. She has no idea that I still remember buying the stuffed calico cat for my favorite aunt at the school christmas shop for 10 cents.
Her closet is ready to go- she has about 20 new outfits, and seven new pairs of shoes. She has her pretty new purple Gap backpack all filled with supplies, and her chore list is ready to be tacked to her wall. I will cross my fingers that she will get to a point, as this summer winds down, when she is filled with anticipation and eager for the sounds of her bus arriving at the corner. I will stand in the front door, and watch her run down the driveway with the backpack she picked out by herself bouncing. She will sit in her seat and wave emphatically at me while the bus drives away, and my heart gets tugged along with it. And all the while, she will have the butterflies playing tag in her belly. This is my hope for her. Let her be an odd duck, too.