The playground fills with girls and boys. Many of the boys play an intense ball game, while two girls walk around the perimeter in their bright dresses layered over colorful pants. A cheerful din fills the air, as I walk my usual morning path.
On facebook, many of my friends post photos of their children, carrying backpacks and clutching lunchboxes, broad smiles and bright eyes shining through the screen.
So much excitement for the first day of school.
And so, tonight I pack my bag. I stand in front of my closet, weighing my options. I review what I will say to two classes of 24 students each, eager first years most likely nervous and scared to write. I know my role: exude cheer, confidence, friendliness, and knowledge. Above all, be kind.
Many of my students don't love school. Many of them have no idea what being a college student means. Many of them need more help than I can give them. Many of them have been told they're poor writers.
Tomorrow, I will start to show them that writing—and school—can be fun.
And I will swallow my nerves, face my fears, and lead the way.
But I still wish I was a student, all dressed up in colorful clothes, brandishing bright pens and folders, ready for the whole world to unfurl before me.