School bells are about to ring. The youth of Clinchville might not want to face it, but suddenly there are pencil boxes all around us, and I’d like to state for the cause that it’s not my fault.
Much to my children’s chagrin, department stores are having door busters on school clothes, office supply stores are offering folders at discount prices, and for reasons that most of us may never understand, the hardware store has thrown wrenches into the mix and called it a discount for education.
Perhaps it’s their way of encouraging us to tighten the lug bolts on our kids’ truck before he drives us to drink.
Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure the back-to-school specials started earlier than ever this year. I swear we had no sooner traded our mittens in for floaties when we noticed the sign at the super center that said in bright bold letters, “Do your back-to-school shopping here!”
“Shield your eyes, little guy!” my Lawrence exclaimed to his little brother in response to the insanity. As if the sign were insulting his religion, my child then pronounced for the world to hear, “I don’t think we should patronize a store that encourages this sort of propaganda.”
Knowing the great disdain that my children would experience if I bought pencils, markers and pocket folders with brads, I’ve resisted the urge to stock up on wide-ruled reams of theme paper or to take advantage of the sales that seem to be everywhere.
But, heaven help me, women all around are bragging that they are schoolready. Trixie has stocked up on school supplies, Mrs. Spackley boasts that she has her children’s backpacks stocked, and I’ll be danged if old what’s-her-face up the street didn’t call me and tell me that she’d burned the midnight oil taking advantage of Blue Light Specials.
Meanwhile, one can’t even say the word “school” here at Clinchville. Do you know how hard that is when a mother’s thoughts are consumed with searching for school supplies, school clothes and shoes for — that’s right, you guessed it — school?
“We need to stop by the department store,” I said to my young Lawrence just the other day, when I felt that I could avoid it no longer. He didn’t respond right away. Rather, he eyed me suspiciously and tilted his head a little as if I were trying to pull one over on him.
“What for?” he asked apprehensively.
“Well,” I said as I swallowed hard, “they’re having a sale and I have coupons.”
“A sale on what?” he asked with suspicion.
“Oh, just a few things, you know, shorts and the like.”
“Charlie!” he called out to his brother as he ran from the room, “Mom’s trying to take us shopping and she’s thinking about the ‘s’ word!”
“No way!” Charlie exclaimed as he ran into the room wearing nothing but trunks and a snorkel.
“Way!” Lawrence responded.
“It’s not my fault that school is about to start,” I finally answered, and heaven help me if I didn’t repeat the “s” word like it was my job. “School starts in a couple of weeks, and we have nothing for you to wear to school, so I’m taking you shopping for school and getting you school ready!”
They both looked at me with wide eyes and great disdain. “Oh no, she didn’t!” said Lawrence, and Little Charlie then shook his head and added with disgust, “I can’t believe she kisses us with that mouth.”
I tried to make amends, but how do you apologize for saying the “s” word? Flowers would not be enough.
They made me feel selfish, they made me feel guilty and they made me feel as if I had sinned. Ridden with guilt, I attended the Sunday Mass with my children and as I knelt in the pew, I asked for forgiveness for feeling a little bit happy that summer vacation was drawing to a close.
“I know that the kids don’t want to hear it,” Father Jim said at the end of the service, “but school is fast approaching and we can’t help but think about school. Why, with school just around the corner, surely you must all be buying your school supplies and planning school events as you anticipate the school year, and that’s why we’ve arranged to have a school Mass on the school football field on Aug. 17 to celebrate the beginning of school.”
Suddenly all of the guilt had left me and peace surrounded me. For if Father Jim could say the “s” word and get away with it, then for the love of education and all that is holy, so could I.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.