Back to where?

As anyone who shops in actual brick-and-mortar stores, reads newspapers, pays attention to their mail or watches television knows, the North American Advertising/Marketing Calendar runs about one to two months ahead of the traditional Gregorian calendar. Halloween is in early September. Thanksgiving falls in the middle of October, with Christmas immediately afterward, followed by Valentine’s Day, which occurs while your tree is still decorated, to keep your mind off that post-holiday let-down by offering the endorphin rush of the promise of love and chocolate.

So it follows that “Back to School” time officially started about a week ago. And, if I’m interpreting the hidden messages in the commercials correctly, you are so relieved that the little tykes are finally getting out of your hair that you would gladly spend $600 on a new laptop for Junior’s fall semester, or the equivalent of about as much on trendy jeans, backpacks, sneakers and other vital school supplies. If not, you are considered a Bad Parent. And worse, if for some reason you do not pay attention to the ads for the trendy expensive jeans and sneakers and cop out by buying the geeky stuff (like the year my mother insisted on buying us Sears “Toughskins” jeans because they were just as good as Levis but about half the price – it’s OK, Mom, I’ve forgiven you) you might as well banish your child to the nerd table for the rest of their educational careers.

Really. They aren’t called “Toughskins” because they wear well. It’s because they help you develop a tough skin from all the abuse you will take for wearing them to school.

But, as usual, I digress.

Anyway, with seeing the ads for back to school (and the break in the heat wave, finally!), I started thinking about all of the “back to schools” of my life. Husband and I have compared extensive notes on this topic over the years. While he dreaded the end of summer like a convict waiting to start his sentence, I was one of those weird children who looked forward to the new school year. Not that I loved school, per se. I was the little fat girl who got teased and bullied until I grew out of it in…probably my mid-thirties or so. But September always meant the hope of a fresh start. Fresh, clean pages in snappy new three-ring binders, fresh clean covers on my textbooks. A new beginning. A new teacher. The hope that the kids who teased me the most wouldn’t be in my class. The hope that my friends would. And new clothes. Especially, my favorites, brand new Bonnie Doon knee socks. (Which you just can’t find any more. Please someone, if you know where they are, tell me.) They were thick, and warm, and the only kind that went all the way to the knee and didn’t fall down.

And, I’m embarrassed to admit, the new fall television shows. Guess I was destined for a career in communications from a very young age.

Even as I went on to junior high and high school, the sparkle of that new calendar page didn’t dull. While there were new anxieties (Will I have a boyfriend this year? What if I forget my class schedule or my locker combination? Are people staring at my pimple? Am I wearing the wrong kind of jeans?) there were new challenges and joys – new routines, new subjects to learn, new after-school activities, new friends, the boys growing taller and cuter.

When I was done with school, moved to Boston and got a job, it was the first time in 16 years that I didn’t have a “back to school” to look forward to. It felt strange. Like I’d forgotten to do something. Like I was supposed to be somewhere else. Like I’d be walking across the Common and someone would tap me on the shoulder and say “aren’t you supposed to be in class, young lady?”

The next September, I filled the void by taking a night class. And for the next few years, I taught continuing ed.

So for a while I had a “back-to-school” to look forward to.

It’s been a number of years now since I taught or attended class. I’m no longer out shopping for new school supplies (though I do love the crackle of book bindings and the clean promise of a new journal) or hunting fruitlessly for Bonnie Doon knee socks. But I feel a kind of antsiness as September grows closer. An itch to fill my head with new knowledge, to upgrade my surroundings. Maybe it has more to do with the cool weather breaking the languor of August. The song of the cicadas reminding me that fall is around the corner and the end of the year is fast approaching.

Or it’s just old habits dying hard. (and some years dying harder than others)

Maybe I’ll Google up some Bonnie Doons and see what I can find…