Of Time

I WILL never attend grade school again. There’s nothing profound meant by such a statement, nothing to be expounded upon, no demons to be released, no trauma that needs healing. It’s just a fact.

As this year comes to a close and I continue my second semester of my junior year in college—with senior year around the bend and the responsibility of employment looming over head—it’s the purest of facts, the most poignant of observations. The youth once dreaded, the years I couldn’t wait to flee, are now a cemented part of a yesterday no time machine can ever transport me back to.

I will never attend grade school again, nor will I high school. Freshman subjects I’ve passed so even academically dropping back a couple of years is beyond me. I will never be under five-feet tall again, nor is it likely that I’ll grow past a hopeful five-feet-seven. The days of having books and clothes bought for me are numbered, so are the days of allowance and gimmick money.

I will never attend grade school again, and as much as I’ve accepted this fact, there’s a great deal of acceptance still to grapple with, like the future, the what-after-the-present, a world full of surprises, a universe full of possibility, choices to be made, situations to be handled, all of which won’t be so elementary.

Happy New Year to all!