Family

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My first day of school was singed into my memory with an emotional branding iron.

I found myself in a large crumbling asphalt yard holding my mother’s hand and holding my other hand over one ear to protect myself from the roar that echoed from all the other children. Then, suddenly, I was ripped from her side by a strangely costumed ogre who appeared to rise up from the black pavement. I tried to return to my mother but the ogre would not release me and my mother had turned her back and was steadily retreating. In terror, I surmised that I had been handed over to kid eating monsters and I was afraid that it would hurt. Shortly thereafter, I was allowed cookies and milk with the other helpless victims and concluded that I just might survive the ordeal if I kept a low profile.

My plan seemed to be working fine until I was punched in the back by a kid who was even bigger than my older brother and twice as mean and three times as ugly. My mission then became staying away from him. My next impression was from an enormously pretty girl who kept smiling at me. She proved to be much more pleasant than the giant from hell kid. And we became fast friends.

My next memory of that eventful day was being reunited with my mother, who, I knew could no longer be completely trusted. But as my pretty new friend waved goodbye to me and called out my name, it no longer seemed to matter as much. For somewhere down in the bowels of my soul, I knew that I had become a member of the world and party to more good and evil than I had ever imagined and that nothing would ever be the same.

By bedtime, as my eyes were shutting, I was jolted by the awareness of having both lost and gained a great deal and wondered if I was better for it. Sleep seemed to be the only answer.

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