School time has come again, again

                It can’t be late August already! But, alas, it is. School has started for another year, but the only association I have is through photos of teachers and how long they’ve taught, adverts in the two daily papers, and, oh, yes:

                Two Saturdays ago, I had to have some printer’s ink, so I took the back way to Office Depot. The parking lot was loaded! What was happening? A sale, perhaps? Inside, school supply lists greeted the shoppers. Folks of all ages, singles and families, were going hither and yon.

I zoomed into the ink shelves and quickly found what I needed—nearly a hundred dollars for a box of black and three colors! Came back to the counter as the second in line behind either a mother or a teacher, or both. After she’d checked out myriad school supplies and turned to herd her children and purchases out the door, I asked the clerk, “Wha. . . .?”

“Tax-free weekend,” she said. Of course. That’s the closest I’ve been to school children, teachers, and parents so far, and I would like it to stay that way.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Attending the visitation of the mother of an Ebenezer UMC friend, I was drawn back into the mid-sixties when I taught half-days at Bauxite. Here among the friends of the family were some already retired, former students—Dr. Russell Burton, David and Rick Burrow, Bruce Carlisle, Mark Gillis, Judy Allred Teague, and Steve Perdue.

Looks like I’m eating my words. One very dear and close group of friends are those who went through Bryant Schools together ‘way back in the mid-fifties. We seven or so “’54 Girls” eat breakfast together once a month, and not a meal goes by without someone mentioning an event or a feeling or an epiphany from those days. We are all 81 now and none of us who attend are on canes or walkers. Hearing-aids perhaps, yes.

That’s not to say the entire class is living and thriving. No, several, both men and women, have died and at least one is in a nursing home. But the ones still around are busy—one plans monthly programs for a widows-widowers group; one plays the piano for a small church fifteen miles away; one volunteers both at hospice and a care facility; one drives out west occasionally to visit family; one plays bridge and hosts regularly.

May we all obey the rules when around schools, school buses—flashing lights mean stop—and wish Godspeed on all teachers AND students. And parents/ guardians.