I was one of thirteen girls in my sixth grade class. It inconveniently broke into two groups of 6 each and then me. While, I was secretly wishing I could still play with dolls, the other girls were reading the salacious novels of V.C. Andrews. I muddled through the year dreading lunch time when I sat on the outside of one or the other group and pretended to be a part of something I clearly wasn’t. The non-lunch time activities were only marginally better, my teacher being a dull woman with no passion for teaching middle school kids.
The year ended without drama and after a summer of family vacations and swimming in the lake a new year began. I had friends in my 7th grade class.
I believe in the next school year. Everyone gets this chance. Each year the deck is shuffled and you get a new hand to play. Some years things change more than others. Sometimes you learn more than others. By my junior year of high school I was happy, pretty, smart and popular. My first year of medical school, I was naïve, overwhelmed, tired, and a little lonely. I believe that each new school year is good for me weather I enjoy it or not.
As a resident, I no longer have a summer vacation to bookmark the passing of an academic year, but new roles and new faces provide make July 1st my new year. Maybe in a few years, when I’ve completed more than 25 years of school years, I’ll stay in academics. My circadian rhythm seems tied to this calendar. I can’t imagine how life would be away from this cycle I began in kindergarten.
My son is starting even earlier – he started preschool before he was one. I’m excited for him. And relieved for me, as a parent. I know that some of the unhappy times which may discourage him and some of the great times which may spoil him in his life will frequently be resolved with the next school year.
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