Back to School

Today my grandchildren head back to school, albeit with masks and hand sanitizer. I remember my first days of school. I think of the bus rides to and from school, the games at recess, a hot-lunch or a brown bagged lunch, blackboards that became greenboards – but always chalk, bells to mark time that always seemed to go slower than the summertime, and of course the teachers; all good, some great. There were bullies, but thankfully more friends. Friends that still keep in touch, and sadly my best friend Steve, who I remember only in prayer.

In twelve years we went from duck and cover drills to the end of the Vietnam War. In the middle of those years, a President was assassinated, along with his brother, and a pastor teaching peace and justice was also gunned down. We got lost in rock music and lifted up by the 67 Red Sox – the impossible dream team. Our inspiration came from a realized dream to walk on the moon.

Today, I remain despondent over how we left our fellow citizens in Afghanistan, several who are the same age as my grandchildren. This thought is painful. I’m not sure what the next 12 years of school will bring to the kids beginning first grade this year. There will most likely be good and bad times, both personally and as a nation. Yet having a granddaughter has shined a dark light on the recent events I heard today. Girls will not be returning to school in Afghanistan, and the music has stopped playing. For those who built those schools, and worked for equality over the last 20 years, I imagine in no small way – to quote Don McLean’s song “American Pie”: this is the day the music died.

What gives me hope is that there will be newly relocated boys and girls from Afghanistan attending a school near us, and singing songs to music.