It's a little disorienting to come back into my everyday existence after spending so much time alone in a world that had certain mythical/mystical qualities. Life went on without me here, and about the only real sign that I was gone was the absence of diet soda in the refrigerator and Pepperidge Farm whole grain HealthNut bread in the pantry. I run into people around the neighborhood or at the supermarket who don't know I've been away. They ask, "How are you?" and I have to resist the temptation to launch into a speech about how changed I am.

Two television commercials playing right now pretty much capture what I'm feeling. The first is the Staples ad, run for several years, that uses "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" as a tag line. It shows two children following their father down the store aisles as he fills a shopping cart with school supplies. He is light on his feet, dancing and smiling. The children shuffle after him, their heads cast down and their eyes solemn and a little sad. A voice over trills, "They're going b-a-a-c-k!"

The second is for Kohl's department store. It comes in two versions, one portraying grade schoolers and one with high school kids. It is artier and hipper than the Staples ad. Kids appear with the clothes, shoes, and backpacks they are acquiring. The song tells us confidently that "it's perfectly clear that this year, just like the last year, is going to be a perfectly beautiful year."

Although I understand (and have felt) the sentiment expressed in the Staples spot, I was always a little disconcerted by the cliché of kids hating to go back to school and parents desperate to unload them. In my mind it perpetuated the notion that school is both a punishment and a baby sitter.

As a student I loved school, though I complained as much as anyone else about irritating teachers, boring classes, and silly assignments. As a teacher I also loved school, although there too I complained as much as anyone else about irritating administrators, boring tasks, and silly requirements. 

Lynn is about to begin her junior year. Eleventh grade was always my favorite. It's the year that most schools offer American literature in English class, so I taught juniors more often than any other group. I found juniors more mature than still-whiny sophomores and less jaded and finished with it all than seniors.

Lynn claims to hate school, but she does well and I've observed her again and again draw on and apply the skills and the information she's learned. Her experience this summer as a retail clerk and a nursing home aide opened her eyes to many things she hadn't learned in school, such as the ingenuity of determined shoplifters and the tendency of some people to treat service personnel as inferior beings. She's going back to school more sophisticated than before and more aware of the importance of education.

Her schedule arrived last week. Ron had to go in to the office to fix a glitch that had her scheduled for English class and health and phys ed at the same time. Nothing must prevent her from having the legendary and incredibly effective Mr. Rosenthal for another year of English. "I have all my classes with Kimmy [best friend] and three with Jon [boyfriend]," she told me on the phone. "Are you going to learn anything?" I wondered.

I know she will. She has superior teachers and hangs out with the most suitable companions any parent could want. She's smart, sophisticated (but not too much), well-organized, and motivated to succedd. She started field hockey practice this morning, leaving in her own car to pick up the teammates I drove around and collected last year.

Because of Lynn and my long habituation to the academic calendar, I still regard the start of the school year as a bright new beginning. Because of what I learned and experienced on my trip, I am more focused than ever and more enthusiastic about what I want to accomplish.

It's going to be a perfectly beautiful year, for both of us.