Back to School, Reimagined

Back to school season carries a certain energy. For many families it means sharpened pencils, new sneakers, and first-day photos. For us, it looks a little different. The rhythms here are steadier, the rituals quieter, yet the heart of back-to-school is just as alive: the chance to begin again and to rediscover what learning can mean.

I will never forget one afternoon when our students were reading Clean, a novel that takes place in an adolescent rehab. One boy's face lit up when he understood and related to the fear of the character's first family visit. He wanted to keep reading, to stay with the story, to connect to the emotion. Weeks later, when the author, Amy Reed, visited with our students virtually, the room came alive. They spoke not only about the book but about their own recovery experiences. That moment, the desire to learn, to connect, to see themselves in words, is what excites me most.

I also think of a boy whose mother once told me, “He will not go to school.” For years he had dreaded the classroom and resisted every attempt. Yet here, little by little, he began to lean in. I watched him raise his hand for the first time, his voice quiet but steady, and saw the shift begin to take hold. Moments like that remind me that the possibility of rediscovery is always present.

As someone who has lived in schools my entire life, I carry my own surprise at these moments. I always loved learning. I loved the rhythm of the school day, the sharpened pencils, the spark of understanding when things clicked. To watch boys who once felt shut out of education begin to discover learning again, in a new setting and in their own time, has changed the way I see what school can be.

For parents, back to school can feel different too. There are no new sneakers to buy, no fresh backpack to pack, no schedule to tape to the fridge. Some of the familiar stress is gone: the morning rush, the nagging over homework, the unexpected phone calls from school. Yet those very things were rituals in their own way, and their absence can ache. September mornings can feel strangely quiet, and you may find yourself wondering where you fit in this season now.

I think of my own first-day ritual. Every year, I would take a photo of my children in our driveway before school. The year my loved one was away, and every year that has followed, I no longer have that photo. Even though he is doing well, I still feel the loss of what I thought would be a collection carrying me through high school graduation. It is a reminder that even when things are moving in the right direction, parents carry both pride and grief in the same breath.

Your place, though, has not disappeared. It has simply shifted. You are the ones who answer phone calls when your son wants to share a small success or something new he has learned. You are the ones who provide steady support and encouragement as he explores new ways to understand himself and the world around him. You are the ones who sit in family group and ask the hard questions with honesty and love. And you are the ones who keep showing up, even when the rituals look different than they once did. Back to school may not carry the same outward signs, but your presence and trust remain at the very center of your child’s growth.

I think of the mother who feared her son would never step into a classroom again. The day she heard he was raising his hand, she said she finally felt a different kind of hope. It was not the same as back-to-school shopping or planning a first-day photo, but it was just as meaningful.

I am learning from moments like hers all the time. My teachers now are not only found in classrooms. They are the parents who walk this path with honesty and strength, the staff who bring their hearts to this work, and the residents who remind me every day what resilience looks like.