I Can Buy Me a New Life
I love school supplies.
Really, really love them – the waxy crayon smell, the shiny binder covers, the rows and rows of bright markers and pens and pencils. I adore the colors, the scents, the memories and every moment of shopping for new school stuff.
I've loved school supply shopping for forever, even though I never really loved actual school. I was a good enough student and a lot of elementary school came fairly easy to me (okay, there was that trimester in third grade where I almost flunked, but we don’t talk about that). It wasn't the academics, or all of the terrible spelling tests that made me dislike school. It was the social thing – the having to deal with and understand other kids.
I was that kid; the awkward one who wasn't really sure how to fit in anywhere. I was teased a lot and spent a lot of time either crying or punching someone (seriously, none of the shenanigans I was involved with in school are allowed these days – back then, as long as no one was dripping blood, the teachers preferred to not know what was happening on the playground).
I was also what people back then called a tomboy – hair chopped off and usually sticking up in several directions. Then there was the fact that I was frequently fidgety and prone to yelling out answers in class. Awk-ward.
So, I was odd man out…a lot.
Finally, summer would come and I would be free from a year of struggling to fit in. Liberated to just be me with my sister; who was a much more tolerant companion (probably because she’d been stuck with my awkwardness since she was a year and a half old - poor kid).
Three blissful months of letting it all hang out, until school supply season would arrive again with rows and rows of unused pens, unwrinkled paper, crisp folders and fragrant, waxy crayons lined up. My new backpack brimming with school supplies was the manifestation of new opportunities, a fresh start, another chance to figure things out and fit in.
I don’t think it ever really worked...I stayed an odd duck all through elementary and high school despite the transformative promise of shiny, new school supplies. But then, I eventually got enough perspective to not want to change everything my classmates found so objectionable about me.
I liked being the only girl in class who would call out an answer – especially in an era where girls tended to sit and be “good” with their silent hands raised while the boy who yelled out the answer got credit for participation. I appreciated that I was a fast learner and good at science and history. I reveled in being athletic and tough. I also learned to deploy sarcastic snark, and applied it generously to anyone foolish enough to poke fun at my differences – so, that helped.
Still, each summer I visit the wonderful, magical school supply section; the portal to new beginnings (no, office supplies do not have the same mystical powers). Wandering the bins of rulers, highlighters and glue sticks, breathing the fresh crayon smell, is my place for making plans, assessing priorities, and dreaming of new opportunities.
Every time I shop for school supplies, I am again that hopeful young girl saturated with giddy possibility – what will I learn this year, what should I try, who can I be?
Really, really love them – the waxy crayon smell, the shiny binder covers, the rows and rows of bright markers and pens and pencils. I adore the colors, the scents, the memories and every moment of shopping for new school stuff.
 |
| Loaded with fresh supplies and ready for a hopeful new year |
I was that kid; the awkward one who wasn't really sure how to fit in anywhere. I was teased a lot and spent a lot of time either crying or punching someone (seriously, none of the shenanigans I was involved with in school are allowed these days – back then, as long as no one was dripping blood, the teachers preferred to not know what was happening on the playground).
I was also what people back then called a tomboy – hair chopped off and usually sticking up in several directions. Then there was the fact that I was frequently fidgety and prone to yelling out answers in class. Awk-ward.
So, I was odd man out…a lot.
Finally, summer would come and I would be free from a year of struggling to fit in. Liberated to just be me with my sister; who was a much more tolerant companion (probably because she’d been stuck with my awkwardness since she was a year and a half old - poor kid).
Three blissful months of letting it all hang out, until school supply season would arrive again with rows and rows of unused pens, unwrinkled paper, crisp folders and fragrant, waxy crayons lined up. My new backpack brimming with school supplies was the manifestation of new opportunities, a fresh start, another chance to figure things out and fit in.
I don’t think it ever really worked...I stayed an odd duck all through elementary and high school despite the transformative promise of shiny, new school supplies. But then, I eventually got enough perspective to not want to change everything my classmates found so objectionable about me.
I liked being the only girl in class who would call out an answer – especially in an era where girls tended to sit and be “good” with their silent hands raised while the boy who yelled out the answer got credit for participation. I appreciated that I was a fast learner and good at science and history. I reveled in being athletic and tough. I also learned to deploy sarcastic snark, and applied it generously to anyone foolish enough to poke fun at my differences – so, that helped.
Still, each summer I visit the wonderful, magical school supply section; the portal to new beginnings (no, office supplies do not have the same mystical powers). Wandering the bins of rulers, highlighters and glue sticks, breathing the fresh crayon smell, is my place for making plans, assessing priorities, and dreaming of new opportunities.
Every time I shop for school supplies, I am again that hopeful young girl saturated with giddy possibility – what will I learn this year, what should I try, who can I be?
