I have had twelve “first days of school, ” not including this one.  Twelve sleepless nights, twelve groggy mornings; I’m sad to say that this marked my thirteenth and very last. 

No longer will I have to suffer ice breakers or social contracts, first day jitters or awkward seating arrangements. Yet, in spite of all the undeniable positives that come along with age, there’s a certain drawback that undermines them all: well, aging. 

I can drive now, and in a year I’ll be able to vote, and a few years after that it’ll be drinking I’m allowed, but so much of the fun derived out of things, these things, comes from simply being young and stupid. Or, in a more endorsable turn of the words, the fun comes from being “carefree.”

It’s a thing that’s not easily afforded to adults. They’ve got bills to pay, a job to help pay them, and a family to pay for. A lot of paying for things. In other words, not fun, and most certainly not carefree. 

You know where the fun in being somewhere other than school at 2 pm on a Tuesday comes from? The fact that you’re supposed to be at school. So next year, when I’m no longer required by law to be here, in fact actually strongly encouraged not to be here, the mystique will also be missing. 

And that leads me to an inevitable conclusion: I am actually going to miss this place. A lot more than I have ever anticipated, probably.  

Now, if you’re reading this as anything but a senior, you’re probably not getting it. That’s okay, it’s the kind of charm that can only be admired from a considerable distance away. 

School is not appreciated on a day-by-day basis. True, there are memories from certain days that may come to encapsulate entire years, but day by day recollections are not how, I at least,  have come to scale life. Maybe that makes me miss out on a lot of in-between, I don’t know, but what I do know is that high school has provided me with at least several pleasant cornerstones and consistencies. Two of which being the joy of always having a spot on Mr. Higgin’s couch, and the assurance that every weekday morning at 9 am, I’ll have a place to be.

Somewhat ironic considering that school has long been considered just a place “I had to be.” It has taken twelve years of indolent summers, when Monday could just as well be Friday and night may as well be day, for me to realize that the pacing provided by school has been crucial. It’s not a pleasant thing for me to admit, that establishment life has been in many ways more comforting than confining, but hopefully having obtained this knowledge I can apply it in some helpful way. 

If you’ve ever seen the Shawshank Redemption, I think you’ll know what I mean when I say that in many ways I think this time next year I will feel a bit like an ex-con on parole. I, of course, still embrace freedom, but there will surely be a void left in me for this place which I and my friends have so disdainfully, but now lovingly, call home sweet prison. 

For now, I just hope this knowledge helps me appreciate it all the more while I still can.