Photo: Crayon Me Beautiful courtesy of greekchickie

We could learn a lot from crayons; some are sharp, some are pretty, some are dull, while others bright, some have weird names, but they all have learned to live together in the same box.  ~Robert Fulghum

Once upon a time I was a five year old girl skipping to the bus stop on my very first day of kindergarten. I was the oldest child and my parents’ first to be sent off to school.

They played their part well as they stood teary-eyed at the corner with a massive SLR camera prepared to document my first steps onto the big yellow bus.  

I had my own paparazzi.

The bus rolled up to the corner and the stop sign unfolded from its side like a bird stretching its wings. The other kids hugged their parents goodbye and cried out of fear of leaving the comfort of their families. The bus driver patiently smiled down at us from her throne upon wheels.

I turned, waved at my mom and shouted “BYE!”, then hopped onto the bus.

Years later, I was informed that my mom cried for an hour afterwards because I seemed so eager to leave. (Sorry mom). I guess I’ve always liked my independence.

The cool kid in class that year had a box of 64 Crayola crayons with a built in sharpener.

I was jealous.

I did not have a crayon called Macaroni.

Yet those ugly feelings quickly faded. He sat at my table and shared his crayons. Nice kid. His parents had taught him manners. Mom always told me manners were important in a boy.

He was actually my kindergarten crush. For some reason I loved the mole on his cheek. There was only one word to describe him: Dreamy.(Though, I vehemently denied this crush to my mother as she smiled and asked me why I wanted to wear a pretty dress to class.) Boys were supposed to have cooties. I was not about to be caught risking cooties for a boy. Oh, but moms know...

That was 1993 in Cincinnati.

Now skip 16 years ahead past the days of gold stars and check pluses. Past snack-time and classroom hamsters. Beyond sitting ‘criss-cross apple sauce’, recess, note passing in class, M*A*S*H and the awkwardness of puberty.

Fast forward through my move to Solon in 1999, middle school, failing my driver's lisence test, and high school graduation.

Halt at the beginning of 2007.

Oddly enough, due to a bizarre series of coincidences, I ran into my kindergarten crush again my freshman year of college. I was visiting a friend at Miami University and we went to a dance club.

I recognized him by the mole. This kid was not the man of my dreams. Macaroni crayons do not make up for creepy dancing and lack of personal space. His manners had also completely disappeared. That mole was not so enticing anymore.

This was not about to become the plot to a romantic movie of reuniting with a former childhood love.

Unfortunately I discovered this after I danced with him and confessed my girlhood crush. I feel that a valuable lesson was learned somewhere in there…hmm

Now add 160 college credits, 3 years, 2 universities, 3 apartments, and 4 Major changes. That’s where I am today.

A college senior.

I no longer have to raise my hand when I need to go the bathroom during class. My mom didn’t take my picture my first day of school or make me a snack when I came back.

Though today may have been my very last first day of classes ( if I don't continue on to grad school), I look back fondly.

And you know what? I have my own box of crayons.

So there.

Who needs you anyways?