You miss those elementary school rituals, you do. You pack your backpack that is too big for little you. You hate wearing jackets in the winter and your mom scolds you and as soon as you arrive at school you promptly dispose of it. You line up single file and go to the library as a class. You’re not the line leader today, sadly. Once a year, there’s the book fair but you can’t afford the books so you buy those animal erasers instead. Your teacher reads from the same book every day. You play competitive games in the playground during recess and makeup stories. You find some chalk or maybe a jump rope. You eat lunch with your friends. You get your daily carton of strawberry milk and piece of fruit. Some kid always throws up or gets a nosebleed. You go get the brown paper towel roll from the bathroom. Your teacher writes on the chalkboard. You sing a song. You take a spelling test and everyone receives star stickers. You have best friends and rivals and frenemies and it’s your whole world. You make fortune-tellers. You make friendship bracelets. You experience betrayal and you bury your bracelet in the recess yard. You have movie days if your class was behaving well and you wear pajamas to school and eat popcorn out of brown bags. You play with clay in art. You do first in math. You play cool math for kids games. You go home and take one of those naps where when you wake up time is a thick jelly. You wish you never woke up. Maybe you never did.
