School

I had to drive my son to school on Monday (we missed the bus). As we walked to his classroom — and again, as I left — I saw an exasperated mother trying to persuade a very distressed young boy who, whatever his reasons, did not want to go to school that day. He was pleading with her, desperate. "I can't do this," he cried.

I wonder, was this his first day at a new school?

It swept me back in time. We had recently moved to a new town, I was about to start the fifth grade in a new school, and I was experiencing complete and utter terror. There had to be something, anything, I could do to stay in my old, familiar school among my old, familiar friends. But that old, familiar school was now a half-hour away.

I settled in, of course, given time (though I don't remember anything more about that year than writing a report on the state of Montana, and I couldn't tell you anything more about it than that the state capital is in Helena). And it was an excellent school district — I've come to believe it was likely better than the one I Ieft behind — with teachers whose influence I will never forget. But school was never really the same for me again, somehow. Before, I had been a great student — after that, I was still a great student, but it just didn't seem as important as it had been. And it never was again, not really.

Despite that, I would graduate from High School a year ahead (from another High School, a similar story, though one for another time), and I eventually went to college, but lasted only a half-semester before my interest began to wander (though I was beginning to pursue an interest in journalism).

I love to learn, and I've always been intellectually curious, but I don't seem to have much patience for a structured learning environment. This is one of few genuine regrets I have about the course of my life. I've always wondered if this was the point where everything changed.