This has always been a bittersweet time of year for me. I thought it would change once my own babies were grown and out on their own, but it hasn’t. There is still something about the first rumble of the big yellow school buses that pulls on my heart strings and fills me with a mix of loss, nostalgia and regret.
The loss is because another summer is ending and that brings the regret that I didn’t take advantage of enough of it. No real travel, only two trips to the lake. We have barely blown the dust off the camper. There never seemed to be enough time to do anything or go anywhere when the kids were little. Summer was spent at a dead run most years.
Nostalgia, of course, is for the days when my babies were babies and it was so exciting for them to go back to class. At least for those who actually went somewhere. The last two were predominantly homeschooled – it was 38 miles to the pavement during the few months you could make it to the pavement without a snowcat – so homeschool seemed to be the best option.
There was the anticipation of what they were going to wear. When they were very small, I made their clothing. They adored the idea that no one else would have exactly what they did. Of course, eventually they outgrew most of that idea, and moved on to jeans and t-shirts.
And like parents do, I put myself out of a job. The kids grew up, graduated and moved away. They have their own lives. I check periodically to make sure they are alive, have enough to eat and a little money in their pockets. That’s about all the interference they will brook.
But there is more to it than that. Part of it is that the kids I have been photographing and writing about since they were in elementary school are now in high school. One poor young’un had to tell me he had already graduated.
Like my own kids, they are growing up, making their own way in the world and moving away.
I have noticed a trend lately that I really like, though. Some of them are coming back. Granted, Greg Johnson isn’t a kid, but Nick Fowler is and so is Jaylen Flynn.
When we start bringing our best and brightest home instead of exporting them to build and grow other communities, we are that much closer to turning the corner ourselves.
That doesn’t mean the sad tinge I feel at the end of summer is gone, or ever will leave. The line of yellow school buses will probably always make me feel that way.
But I’m not crying, you’re crying.