Autumn is welcomed in Madison for cooler days and the joy of students starting school. I have several younger friends whose children are starting elementary, middle, high schools and colleges and universities. The young ones entering elementary have both excitement and curious expressions on their faces. They seemed to be thinking, “What is this new place, where I am going to spend so much time away from family?”  Their expressions seemed to ask, “Who are these new people, called teachers, who will be important to me for a long, long time?”

Middle schoolers, that I know, seemed the least enthusiastic. I suppose that is what it means to be in the middle of your school career: you do not have the surprise of the first time attending elementary school, but you also are not at the top like the high schoolers who are transitioning after four years into higher education.  High schoolers reflect many emotions as they transition into eighteen-year-old rights and responsibilities. Ahh high schoolers.

I went back to high school, a second time, with my beloved son. In my son’s life, I was in elementary, middle, and high school classrooms as a room mother, class parent and involved educator. I have respect for the intuitive need for children to learn. Children are born wanting to learn and adults in their lives need to nurture that. I was fully present at schools so that school personnel would know “leave this Black boy alone,” or you will hear from me.

College and university students are not the ones who need more support. It is my friends, their parents, who needed comfort because they missed their presence in their homes. These students, while missing their parents too, mostly sailed out to the door happily for wonderful new adventures as they transition to adulthood.

We have a tradition in our family, where a parent, most often a mother, would anoint the foreheads of their children, pray for them, and bless their school day. My mother would take her blessed oil from church, make the sign of the cross on us, her children, then her grandchildren and pray over us. It was a prayer of obligation that we went ready to learn at school, had no behavior problems and understood we were investing in our future.

We left home confident our school day would go well, we were protected from hurt, harm and danger, and our mothers loved us enough to pray for our time at school. Historically this protective, spiritual, parental love was truly needed in segregated schools, integrated schools, and now public schools. I hope and pray that everyone has a splendid school year and that parents are inside the schools helping teachers and school personnel as their children’s first, most important teachers.

Autumn is also a time of endings. Mr. Joe McClain, 97 years strong, died last week. There is a wonderful article on him as The Reluctant Commando on August 28, 2024, Cap Times. It gave a comprehensive perspective of his accomplishments. What I remember best about Mr. McClain, besides him being an avid golfer and loving my black-eyed peas, was he worked with youth in Madison. I knew several of the youth he assisted through Dane County Youth programs because he wanted African Americans young people to avoid the school-to-prison pipeline. The program I knew best was his Arts are Prevention. He often used his own money for the program, and the young people he mentored grew up into talented, productive adults. They stayed connected with Mr. McClain their whole life long because the love was mutual, and he led by example. I feel fortunate that I was able to sit with him, laugh with him, talk to him, and send him one last pan of his favorite black-eyed peas before he left this earth. We will never forget you, Mr. Joe McClain, especially because you invested in children and youth.