Where Do The Years Go?

Carter started tenth grade today. That’s double-digits in school years. She’s a sophomore. Although she is in tenth grade she has been at DA for twelve years since she started in Pre-K. It is not the fact that twelve years have gone by, but that she only has three years left that seems unreal.

What is even scarier is that I can remember back to my first day of 10^th grade like it was yesterday. When I was a sophomore I went to boarding school so it was incredibly memorable. I was in no way prepared for what I would face.

One of my strongest and most frightening memories was of my first Latin class. Somehow only the brightest, and I am not including myself in that group, of girls decided to take Latin I that year. There were only a handful and most of them were upperclassmen and all of them were “old girls” which meant this was not their first year at Walkers.

To add to the genius pressure we had the incredibly hard Mrs. Dembrow as our teacher. I was completely out of my element. What do I remember of Latin? “Semper ubi sub ubi.” Read the next sentence out loud to get the translation right. “Always where under where.” Actually, quite a useful bit of information for me. Too bad I did not always follow it.

This is what is terrifying in my realization that Carter is the same age as I was then…when I was in boarding school I thought I knew everything. In fact, I’m sure I knew more then than I know now. Only with age comes the understanding of what I do not know. I’m sure I’ll know less tomorrow.

Although going to Walkers was the best thing my parents ever did for me, starting a new school as a sophomore is hard. I was lucky since the majority of my class started that year, but it was hard for all of us. I am happy Carter did not have to start a new school today.

Being a returning sophomore comes with a level of comfort. I am most pleased that she came home excited about her teachers and her classes. It is time that learning gets to be fun. She said she recognized some genetic similarities between us when she got electrified about the prospect of debating historical issues. I told her that both my parents were history majors so those genetics run deeper than one generation.

After school I picked her up and we had our ritual talk in the car that extends way longer than the time it takes to get home. We sit in the car in the driveway and finish our conversation. The sad part for me is that Carter will be driving herself to school starting in December so I see our “car talks” are almost to the end of their life. Where did the car seat years go?