"Even now, decades later, I’m still hard-wired to be creeped out this time of year...."

It’s back to school time. Facebook has been flooded with first-day-of-school kid-pics. Everybody looks freshly scrubbed and well rested, wearing clothes Mom bought them days earlier during a frantic last-minute run to the Tannersville outlets. Regardless of what the calendar says, what marks the true end of summer around here is the puttering of school buses and the Friday night football lights.

Even now, decades later, I’m still hard-wired to be creeped out this time of year. I can still wake with a start thinking I forgot to do my Latin homework, or that I’m about to hopelessly bomb an Algebra test. Last year’s bully is still waiting for me at the bus stop, and the new gaggle of cheerleader-wannabees are making fun of my newly feathered locks. There’s first day of school-trauma in my noggin’ that won’t go away despite 35+years of not being in school anymore.