First Day Jitters

Grit, Grace and Grass Stains

Oh, the sparkle-flecked innocence and squeak of the first day of school. The first day of kindergarten! Everything unfamiliar, starchy and too new. Sneakers void of grass stains or stepped-on wads of gum. Hair brushed glossy, like a horse’s mane, not a burr or knot.

Lunch boxes, without a scuff. Dukes of Hazzard, Star Wars, Knight Rider. A fold-out affair, complete with a thermos filled to the brim with Kool-Aid. Thank god for Kool-Aid to settle those jangly nerves. It’s like kid cocaine. Add a plain white peanut butter sandwich, dense with a layer of both peanut butter AND butter because that was always better in my mom’s mind. The token piece of fruit would take on emergency status in favour of the tin of pull-tab pudding cup or fruit salad with one half maraschino cherry. It was a fast and satisfying reach for the Swiss Roll in its foil wrapper (or Wagon Wheel or Vachon ½ Moon).

These days, I know kids are carting around ergonomic backpacks with bento boxes and mini YETI coolers to ensure safe minimal internal temperatures. We hoped for the best when it came to egg salad and tuna sandwiches. There was great trust in the boy-sweat fog of the cloak room closet as a pseudo-refrigeration area.

I can almost smell the sour sawdust that the janitor, Mr. Bogner, pushed around (indicating that someone had barfed). The poster paint powder, always a plume of toxicity, is just as distinct, decades later. There was always one kid (David Spencer) who was too liberal with the addition of water and made a soupy mess of the easels. I’d love a go at the diluted tempera paints, sloppily stirred in old soup cans, dripping off the stack of sulfite paper that resisted curling, despite what was hurled at it.

My kindergarten teacher drove a Halloween orange 1974 Stingray corvette. She also pounded out a daily song on the piano with a hypnotic rhythm that we reacted to like sleepy soldiers shook awake. “Tidy up, tidy up, everybody tidy up.” Dutifully, we would fold up our little towels that we slept on during our scheduled nap break while Mrs. Baldwin sang the encouraging lyrics over and over (and over) until we were tidied up. How long was our daily nap? It could have been 10 minutes or two hours. The overhead fluorescents were turned off and we conked out, as suggested. Though somebody would snap off a fart (again, I’ll blame David Spencer) and silliness would ensue. Followed by a guaranteed “Shhhhh.”

I’m not sure of the order of events, but painting and napping figured large. Recess was a coveted time to turn absolutely feral for 15 minutes before returning to the classroom covered in wet grass, saliva and snot. Our lips would be stained purple or orange from Kool-Aid, our hands and knees raw from dramatic wipe-outs on the tarmac.

The jitters quickly dissolved, like sugar cubes in tea. We swirled around in a hot mess of shared awkwardness, hoping we didn’t barf up tuna sandwiches or piss our pants while navigating the monkey bars or skipping Double Dutch. Engine, Engine Number Nine. Going down Chicago Line. Which track do you choose??? The plastic whips would turn like whirling dervishes as we bounced to the Jolly Red Hot Pepper warp speed.

Friendships were forged. All it took was an empty seat on the bus, really. As the first one on the rural school bus route and the last one off, there was relief in not choosing who to sit with. I was always sat with.

Two weeks before school started, just as the bratty blue jays moved into our pines, my dad would begin our training program. We had to train both our bodies and our hair. After a carefree summer of sleeping in, we had to train for an early and awful wake-up call. There would be sharp knocks at our bedroom doors and suddenly, a bowl of Lucky Charms didn’t feel as lucky at 8 a.m.

September still makes me anxious for this reason. Alarm clocks. Ugh. Our hair, after two months of unkemptness, pitchfork burrs and normal pine sap incidents between siblings, suddenly had to be trained, parted and respectable.

I smile as the blue jays have appeared in our cedars in the last few days. Kim and I are in a training program that involves serious wake-up calls (ugh, 5:30 a.m.). The Camino doesn’t favour sleeping in, or sleeping in general. I’m not concerned about my hair (sorry, Dad), and the Camino isn’t either.

We have the same first day jitters coursing through us. It doesn’t matter if it’s school or starting an always intimidating 860km-long Camino route. Point is, the jitters are a necessary and welcomed rush of endorphins (and diarrhea). It’s all about grit and grace.

Kids, be sure to find yourself a remote job when you grow up. One that preferably takes you to even more remote places like the Serengeti, the Galapagos, Borneo and Patagonia.

I haven't found much need for things like fractions or gymnastics, so don't sweat that stuff. Painting on those easels was fun for me, but if it's not your thing, there’s something else lying in wait.

Read a lot. Write a lot. Keep pencil crayons on your person, always. Take pictures of woolly bear caterpillars and your lunchbox avo toast. Learn five more birds than you knew before today. Draw pictures of toads and your teacher, collect neat things, walk everywhere and be curious, always.

Write down your dreams, do them, and then hatch some more.

That's what I did.

And if you’re unsure of what to do next, go for a very long walk.

That’s what I’m doing right now.

Feeling sheepish while crossing the Pyrenees from France into Roncesvalles, Spain, on the Camino Frances.

Kim (my wife) and I are currently walking the coastal Camino del Norte from Irun to Santiago, Spain. It’s 31 days of huffing it. I’m sure I’ll be thinking fondly of my kindergarten naptime towel. Whatever you’re up to in life, throw in the towel (it’s okay!) or lie down on a towel. Have a ½ Moon. Tidy up. Sit beside someone new on the bus.

What are you training (or waiting) for??