Mark your calendars. This was a day of first for Val's family.
Genius started his senior year of high school today. I am triple-knotting the apron strings. I'm not ready for him to make his escape.
The Pony started his freshman year of high school. It's a cold, cruel world out there, little Pony. I'd keep you in the paddock a while longer if I could, but you have been chomping at the bit and kicking up your heels all summer.
I started my 25th year of teaching. That's right 25 years. I need to file my teeth down to nubs. A couple of years ago, students were guessing my age as thirty-five. Yes. I was a child faculty member. A prodigy. Attending Harvard at six years old. Hey! I can't help it if kids these days are not very observant. And since I never comment on my true age, I could not correct their honest mistake. Far be it from me to dash their tender self-esteem on the jagged rocks of truth.
This morning I stopped Hick as he walked past my morning-nap recliner on the way to feed his fleabags before embarking on his daily journey to the salt mines.
"It's a day of firsts," I told him.
"Yeah. It is. Genius starts his senior year. It's like the first day of the rest of his life."
Okay. I did not call Hick out on his deep philosophical observation. He would never understand that each day is the first day of ANYBODY's rest of his life.
"The Pony starts high school. And you haven't even showed him how to use his shaver."
"Aw. He'll like going to the first day of high school with chin whiskers."
"Today is my 25th first day of teaching."
"Your 25th birthday of teaching? How's that?"
Sigh. Hick just cannot navigate that tricky context sea.