My First Day of School

My first day of school I remember it like it was yesterday. A short drive from where we lived was a small community elementary school that still stands today, a cherished landmark filled with memories. Seneca Elementary is the school where my red and white shoes would hit the ground for the first time on my own, an exhilarating experience that felt like stepping into a new world.

We had a back-to-school night, a event where families gathered to meet teachers and explore the halls; yes, I saw my classroom filled with colorful decorations and inviting bookshelves; nothing prepared me for being on my own in this vast place filled with laughter and learning. I am happy we did have the back-to-school night because I wanted to be prepared and well I was, equipped with my new backpack and a heart full of excitement.

Stepping off the bus, the familiar hiss of the doors opening echoed in my ears, and I would wave goodbye to my bus driver in confidence at the start of my day, feeling brave and ready to face the challenges ahead. I looked left and right, seeing this massive building before me, its bricks warm in the morning sun, and I headed inside, my footsteps echoing in the hallway. I went directly where I was supposed to go, following the carefully mapped route I had studied the night before.

I remember that my favorite activity was the sandbox every time you entered the door, a magical spot where creativity flourished in the form of castles and creatures. I had a locker with a frog sticker, bright green, and on that frog sticker was my name, elegantly printed; I just knew that locker was just for me, a small space where I could keep my treasures. I opened it, got out what I needed, and headed into class, my heart racing with anticipation for the day ahead and the friendships waiting to be formed.

My memory is limited to all the activities that were done at Seneca Elementary simply because I didn’t stay long, and well, we will get to that later. Just know, in this time of my life and the memories, I don’t remember my classmates; however, I do recall that my teacher would read enchanting stories to us, bringing the pages to life with her expressive voice. While there was plenty of time for learning, every day we had playtime. In the sandbox, we could create whatever our hearts desired, since all the cool kids always had the larger blocks for their grand designs. I found comfort in the soft sand, which always seemed available and welcoming, a playground of endless possibilities for kids like myself.

We wanted to play with the blocks, to create towering castles and majestic fortresses, but more often than not, we ended up in the familiar confines of the sandbox, where our imaginations could run wild without the pressure of competition. One thing we all shared in common was our fondness for that sandbox, a safe haven from the chaos that surrounded us. I remember our group of kids that claimed the sandbox as our own; oftentimes, we would see the cool kids trying to execute daring feats with their big blocks, only to find themselves getting hurt in the process. We would watch from afar, giggling and exchanging knowing glances, feeling a mixture of sympathy and relief. We knew we were safe right where we were, crafting our little worlds in the sand, far from the risks associated with the larger toys and the unpredictable antics of our more adventurous peers.

I remember on my first day we had an assembly. We all went into the auditorium and sat down, the air filled with a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. I think the one thing that stuck in my memory was the “criss cross apple sauce hands in your lap” thing, and I honestly don’t know why, but us kids loved it and embraced it wholeheartedly. If you don’t know, it simply means sit down, cross your legs, and put your hands in your lap. I have no idea where the saying came from; it was just a quirky tradition we adopted. Anyway… back to the assembly; I remember this little bus coming out almost like magic, wheeling across the stage in a way that made it seem alive. I think it might have been remote-controlled, but oh my gosh, the thrill in my eyes was undeniable. The adults who were presenting the mini yellow bus introduced him as Buster, and I felt an overwhelming bliss of joy wash over me as if I had just met a celebrity. The assembly was all about school bus safety, an essential topic for kids who were about to embark on their first school year, and the yellow bus was the creative tool the adults used to engage and intrigue us children. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker… I was that kid, completely enchanted by the vibrant presentation that felt like a magical adventure in a new world.

Taken seriously by Mr. Buster, it felt like the end of the day had come quickly. The day was an absolute adventure, filled with fun moments that stuck in my mind. When the final bell rang, it was time to rush to the bus with excitement. I ran to my bus, the bright colors and sounds mixing together, and got to the door in no time. There was my favorite bus driver who always made me smile. I reached the door and burst out, “Guess what I saw, Mr. Buster!” She looked at me with a warm smile, clearly interested. “Oh yeah? Tell me all about him,” she said. As I climbed onto the bus and found my seat, I shared stories of my day, using animated gestures while other kids got on, their laughter providing a cheerful backdrop to my storytelling.

The engine started and began to hum like the grand giant it was, filling the air with a deep, resonant sound that resonated through my chest. Mr. Buster, and our dedicated driver, made sure I paid attention to all the features of this magnificent machine. Whenever my bus driver would drop a student off, I would watch with fascination as the control panel would glow, illuminating the various actions being taken—like a dashboard of a spaceship. It was a vibrant yellow school bus. As my bus driver continued her route, I could feel the sheer power of the diesel engine rumble beneath me, creating a sense of excitement and adventure. Finally, it was my stop, and I glanced at my bus driver, sharing a moment of understanding before I went down those steps, exiting into the world outside. I hurried inside my home, eager to talk about my day and recount the experiences I had witnessed.

Outside, the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow, and the fireflies started to twinkle, their soft lights dancing in the dusky air. Another day was over, yet the memories of the journey lingered, filling my heart with the promise of new adventures to come.