Goodness gracious, in this, my nineteenth year of getting ready for the first day of school, I still get that nervous stomach ache, wondering who I'll be friends with and who I'll sit by in class, and I still hate change, as much as I love school. I remember some of my first-day-of-school outfits from when I was little--the strong primary-colors-striped dress, the fuchsia sleeveless sweater and flowered coolots, the brown skort that I was going to wear until my father vetoed it, claiming that it looked like a mini-skirt (I think there were tears on that one...).
My mom took pictures of my sister and I, carrying our lunchboxes, leaving the house for the school bus (the school bus where I learned the ways of the world insofar as I know them at all); later she and my dad would drop me off at school and settle me into my dorm room (she always made up my bed for me). Except for the years I was homeschooled--I didn't have to worry about first-day outfits and there were no pictures or stomach aches. Alas, this is probably the beginning of my last year of classes, and, hence, worth noting well.
My mom took pictures of my sister and I, carrying our lunchboxes, leaving the house for the school bus (the school bus where I learned the ways of the world insofar as I know them at all); later she and my dad would drop me off at school and settle me into my dorm room (she always made up my bed for me). Except for the years I was homeschooled--I didn't have to worry about first-day outfits and there were no pictures or stomach aches. Alas, this is probably the beginning of my last year of classes, and, hence, worth noting well.
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