Of the three choices named in the prompt, the one I remember best is my first day of first grade. My first day of work was when I was maybe 16, working on a farm, but I don’t remember much else about what I did that first day. My first day as a parent was, of course, a day like no other, and the significance of that moment when our first child was born wouldn’t really settle in until sometime later.
My first day of school, on the other hand, sticks in my head as a sunny morning in early September, 1960. I remember waiting for the bus at the bottom of our dirt driveway, on the opposite side of the street, near a power pole and a banking, beyond which spread nothing but woods, since it was still years before the housing development would appear. My Mom was with me, though I can’t remember if any of my brothers or sisters were there, too. Dad was already off to work. I was the oldest, so this was the beginning of a next chapter that I got to kick off.
I remember the old Dodge bus rounding the bend and slowing down. The door opened and I got my first glimpse of Mr. Lemanski, a weathered, older gentleman with a gruff exterior but a good heart, who smoked cigars (this was 1960…) and gave me the impression he was always a bit put out by something.
I don’t remember my first day in the classroom, just bits and pieces along the way. But I’ll never forget that first day waiting for the bus. That has stayed with me, for some reason.
3 Cents' 