Fear and the 1st Grade
I've been volunteering a lot at my daughters' elementary school. Nothing too intellectually strenuous: making photocopies, assembling handouts, and cutting out shapes. School has definitely changed in the decades since I attended. The school makes excellent use of computers. They are using machines that are 5+ years old, but they do exactly what the students need and, I imagine, are so much cheaper to maintain. The cafeteria food has changed as well. OK, we're not talking haute cuisine, but it doesn't taste bad and it is good for you. It's heartening to see that they've moved beyond the days when ketchup was considered a vegetable.
But something strange happened to me one day. I'm waiting in The Office. For what, I don't remember. The chair I'm sitting in is about 4 inches too short. I'm waiting. The clock audibly clicks with each passing minute. And I'm waiting. I feel as if 30 years of personal history have just vanished and I'm about to account for some scholastic sin to my principal who is 10 times my height and talks in a deep, booming Texas drawl. My knees begin to shake. I'm glad I'm not in school any more.