The First Day of School

My senior year begins with zero drama and a fresh perspective

My most vivid first-day-of-school memory is my first day of first grade. My parents divorced the year before, and my mother, my two sisters, and I lived in my grandparent's converted attic. We'd had a stressful partial school year at a rural public school, and my mother had transferred us to a private academy, hoping our situation would improve. I remember that morning precisely because of how normal it felt. We were up on time. Breakfast was on the table. My hair was done, and my clothes were still crispy and brand new. I had a brand spanking new cardboard pencil box and a cool Snoopy lunchbox. Even if I was nervous about attending a new school, there was a feeling that anything was possible.

That feeling faded over the weeks and years, as we were usually an hour+ late for school, never had time for breakfast, never had my hair brushed, and never had the clothes/supplies we needed. If that wasn't bad enough, we were often locked in the school alone, waiting because our mom was always late for pickup. I don't fault her for this because she was a single mom, an artist, distracted, and more than likely suffered from ADHD. We lived 30 minutes away from school, and the organization it would have taken to get three girls fed and clothed on time would have taken more executive function than my mom could muster. Being the daughters of an eccentric in the deep South in the '70s and '80s was challenging. My mother, sisters, and I were very different from the people around us. I rarely felt what I imagined normal should feel like and struggled to feel like I fit in even when I did. I always felt one step off from everyone else. Like I never really belonged.

When I was diagnosed with ADHD as an adult, it wasn’t surprising. I’d had a lifetime of learning the hard way how to manage it. Years of humiliation associated with getting to things late made me uber-vigilant about being on time and led to a lifetime of overplanning. I'm still flighty, flakey, and slightly disheveled, but for the most part, I set things in stone weeks and months in advance; I am always where I say I will be, and mostly, I do what I say I will do.

This first day of school was no different. I was up two and a half hours before my 8:30 class, washed and fed. Right out of the car, I felt a sense of pride to be able to help a lost freshman find her way to breakfast and beyond. I reset a wall clock for my art professor and pulled an extra chair for a late student.

Later, while eating lunch solo, I looked around the cafeteria and saw a few other students eating alone. I was just happy to be there, but I could tell they weren't enjoying sitting in silence as much as I was. Witnessing their discomfort in not knowing anyone, I remembered how horrible that sensation of being stranded was. Even if being away from home for the first time with 19-year-old skin and your whole life ahead of you seems like a good time, I’d been in their shoes, and that specific sort of awkwardness is not fun. I spent the rest of the day working to alleviate that feeling in the people around me by being the first to speak up, helping when someone looked confused, and smiling at anyone who looked like they needed it. That's the good part about going back to school as an adult who no longer gives a shit. What was once cringy and uncomfortable becomes freeing.

In my final class of the day, I was psyched to find another nontraditional student. This nearly 30-year-old had dropped out of art school and just finished an associate’s degree at community college, and was returning to finish what he had started all those years ago. We quickly felt in cahoots and agreed when the professor said finding the long way around is far more interesting.

The morning was capped by running into the daughter of one of my best friends on her first day of college. She was genuinely excited to see me, and when we hugged in parting and said, "I love you," it reminded me of the community I’d built for myself, far from a childhood of feeling other. I’d known this girl since before she was born, and here she was, starting her own adventure. It was a joy seeing her there in that moment, perched solidly at the beginning of the rest of her life. It reminded me of how normal I feel as an adult, even if I am far from it. I am finally comfortable in my own skin, even if it’s a bit past its prime.

I do belong here.