L has been worried about starting school this year. New teacher; new students; new room in a new hall — new everything.

“I don’t want to be a first grader,” she lamented.

“I don’t want to go to that school,” she whined.

“I want to go back to Ms. B’s class,” she begged.

I recall being somewhat nervous about starting new grades. First grade for me too was tough: I was starting a new school, and the bathrooms we used were situated between first and second grade (it was an open classroom design). That meant every time I went to the restroom, I ran the risk of encountering an unimaginably large second grader. It was terrifying.

L had different worries, different concerns. Her first disappointment came when she learned that she would no longer be the first released to the car line. “Well, you’re not in kindergarten anymore,” I explained. Her first bit of pride came a little before that, though, as she was walking down the hall with her class and encountered a favorite teacher from last year.

“Did you say ‘Hi’?” K asked as we talked about it over dinner.

“No, Mama! We were walking down the hall. We couldn’t talk. We’re first graders! We can’t do that!”