This time of year used to mean new pencils and shoes. I better have brand new pencils, they can't be old ones, they must have crazy colors. I cannot wear last year's shoes, they must be new, they must be from Famous Footwear. Kids can spot old, and they are ruthless.
I knew a kid who took pride in his little nub of a pencil, sharpened all the way down to the eraser. It was cool. I envied him. I couldn't say it.
Now I'll write with anything; pencil long or short, ink, chalk, paint, blood. Children don't realize that it's the words, no one told us about message versus medium. And the dirtier my Converse the better.
It's taken me years to realize the year starts in January. I still don't think I'm there. I still look at the trees changing colors and think something's beginning. I guess, in a way, it is.
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