4th grade

Today (as widely noted by smiling sisters and brothers, only children, multiple children, little ones and teenagers alike--their pictures all over the Facebook-iverse) is the first day of school. 

And my baby is in fourth grade.

FOURTH grade.

I don't know about you, but for me (and Tad says for him too), 4th grade is a pivotal year.  For me, fourth grade, age ten--that's the year I broke through and entered the consciousness in which I now reside.  Age ten was when I started my first diary, and never have stopped journaling since. Fourth grade is the place where friendship, real friendship began to mean a real lot to me.  It is the time that I remember exactly how I felt about my parents, about my sister, about the world.

Fourth grade is it, man. It is on now.

 This boy spends hours drawing intricate pictures.  Reads novels through parties and baseball games.  Talks introspectively about his reaction to something, his feelings about it. 

I see him look at himself in the mirror and I know he's communicating with himself.

It is amazing.

He is also wild and silly and full of goofiness and energy that sends him flopping all over the couch, his bed, his friends.

He has dark, angry moods yet still he slips his soft hand into mine and asks me why he is so annoyed with his sister, why he feels so angry and can't seem to stop it.

This boy is in fourth grade.  He will be ten years old in two weeks.  I'm proud of him and excited to watch him keep on growing.

But fourth grade--it's a big year.  He's coming into his own now.

Me, circa 1985.  4th Grade.