Amanda Lamb: The first day

This week marked the beginning of school for many students in North Carolina, including my daughter who is a senior in high school.

As I scrolled through my various social media accounts, I saw the requisite first day of school posts. Some were ironic—showing kids dressed up with their backpacks on the front stoop. Undoubtedly, seconds after these photos were taken, these same children turned right around, marched back inside, and set up their laptops on the kitchen table to prepare for virtual learning.

Other photos were aimed at capturing the reality of the situation—children perched at a kitchen island in front of computer, their faces dimly lit by the gray glow of the screen, looking focused and ready to learn. And still others showed an even grimmer reality—tired kids with a laptop perched on a pillow next to them as they either dozed, played with the dog, or simply ignored what was in front of them.

I decided not to take one. For one, it’s doubtful my 17-year-old would have allowed it, and secondly, it made me sad even to think about it.

Senior year of high school is supposed to be a time of celebration and transition, the transition from being a teenager under your parents’ wing into an independent young adult ready to spread her wings. This hardly feels possible when you’re going to school in your family’s kitchen.

I want what every other parent wants—the ability to send our kids to school safely so they can interact with their friends and their teachers. And no one knows when that will be able to happen.

On a more personal note, I want some miracle to rescue my daughter’s senior year from the pandemic. And, if and when it happens, I will take that first day of school picture and post it, the day she walks out the door with her backpack, gets into her car, and waves good-bye.

Because to me, that’s the first day of school …​