First Day of School Short Story PDF

Preview

Summary

For Brother Gentry's class. Example of a short story. ...

Description

First day of school The smell of freshly mown grass and sharpened yellow pencils contain all sorts of memories for anyone that has ever attended school. For myself I am reminded that my summer fun is coming to an end. As many kids my age are, I have never really been fond of school. I still love to ask my mother, as my older brother did when he was younger; ‘Mom can I just stay home and bake cookies with you?’ I am a worry wart. I still have no idea what caused this aspect of myself to become so uncontrollably bad, maybe it’s the fact that I grew up with five rowdy siblings and a few angry roosters in my backyard, but I have always been the kid in my family that didn’t want to do anything that was remotely different from the life that I was currently living. Thankfully I have learned to calm this part of me down with self soothing techniques, but when I was younger, I bugged my mother to the grave and back. And one of these incidents occured on the first day of my third grade year.

I remember having woke up that morning with an endless pit in my stomach and I seriously just wanted to go back to bed. My mother, cheerily as always, whipped up my sister ( who was then going into the first grade and more ecstatic than a nerd at a comic-con) and I a salty breakfast of scrambled eggs and milk that to this day, I can still taste and smell with a cringe of abhorrence. It wasn’t that my mother was at all a bad cook or anything like that (thank you for feeding me mom), it’s only that I am not at all a morning person. Early morning to me is like running to an obese person; it’s just not gonna be an easy thing to start off and if someone makes me do it, that certain person better watch out. I had been dreading the day that school came up and wasn’t particularly happy that it had finally made it’s way into my very comfortable and complacent lifestyle so, regrettably, my

mother was on the receiving end of some very snide comments and evil glares. That was, until my mother’s big green ford expedition finally arrived at the Victor Elementary school, a place now very fond in my memories. I can remember her saying that she would walk us in and as I stepped out of that car I began to feel not only just nervous about the dreaded school year ahead of me, but just physically downright rotten. I can also remember that it was a peculiarly hot day and that the black pavement hit my shoes like lava. I don’t know if it was that particular mix of hot concrete, the fear of not seeing my mom for a whole day and the butterflies that fluttered in my weak stomach, but something happened. Splat. That disgusting breakfast of eggs and milk sprayed everywhere on that simmering black concrete. And it smelled too. I just recall thinking ‘well now I don’t have to go to school today’ and almost smiled if it weren’t for the look the other kids were giving me. Luckily most of the kids were already in the school but the few that were there, including my first grader sister, witnessed something that I never intended anyone to ever witness. Ever. I thought for sure that my mother would see that green-yellow splat in contrast to that pitch black concrete and say ‘ok, you’re going home now.’ but she didn’t. She just led me to the little persons bathroom, washed me up and told me the room to go to which was all the way down that hall, which to a seven year old seems like an eternity plus a mile. I can remember seeing my younger sister going into her classroom with a skip and a smile and that I felt in my gut notably more jealous of her bright-eyed attitude than I had ever felt before. I just walked down that carpeted hallway that was lined with coat racks that held everything a little person could wear and stared at my feet, sad about what had happened. That was until I saw some very bubbly and jumpy kids my age wave at me, excited as they could be

about their brand new Spiderman and Barbie backpacks. Thanks to them, my day turned out better than I expected. So remembering that story, I now know that upcoming school years (or anything for that matter) is never going to be as bad as I imagine it to be. Except for prison. I’m sure that that is worse that I could ever understand....