They are fucking LOUD. Loud the way only kids can be. Like, look at me! Look at me! They cower when they are alone, but in groups they are brave and belligerent. I remember. I know what its like to think you're surrounded by has-beens and hypocrites. I know what it feels like to think you have figured things out. There's a wonderful simplicity to that feeling. Adults (at least the smart ones) realize that they don't understand anything. It's demoralizing. It's tiring. It's a drag. Makes me want to smoke cigarettes and write fast, angry songs.
This happens every year, but every year it feels new. There is a kind of magic in that. Mystery at the very least. In some ways, it feels like trying to stay planted in gnarly surf. Undertow pulling on you. You stand up against it, try to be the big rock that dashes the wave to pieces. This is understandable. This is relatable. The beginning of journeys are always exciting and fraught with drama.
When I'm an old man, I'll watch the kids going to school, and it will bring back a lifetime of memories from both sides of the desk. That's something, man. That's something you can hang your happiness on. Put me in an old folks home if you must, but make sure there's a window for when school's in session.