It was a great shock to me when one of my greatest summers ever came to an abrupt ending. Not only did I have to get up for school the next morning, but it was my brother’s first day of kindergarten.
My sister, brother and I stood at the end of the walk at our Limekiln Lake home as the bus pulled up.
My brother seemed ready to take part in this strange ritual that his older siblings had been engaged in for a few years running.
When we reached the Inlet School I made sure he was heading in the right direction to meet his new teacher.
Off he went with a smile on his face and a fascinating story to tell her—one of many I’m sure he shared that day.
Once we departed, I began thinking more about what was in-store for me—a day filled with new books, class assignments, and a new desk to start filling with drawings.
At the end of the day I waited for my brother to emerge from school for our bus ride home.
He ran to me and immediately started to explain every little thing he saw and did throughout his day.
Everything he said started with a question…”Ya know what? They had little milks. And then there was this other kid, and ya know what I seen her do?”
It was as if he was on a sugar overload and trying to spit out three or four ideas at once.
I tried to listen as we boarded the bus but he seemed obsessed with the little milks.
“Ya know what? They had little milks, little milks just like our bird feeders—only little,” he said as he held his hands close together to demonstrate the size.
I began to imagine what sort of teeny tiny birds I could build a feeder for from our mini school milks.
Then I looked right at him and asked, “What did the little milks taste like?”
He thought about it for a second and replied, “Mine was ripped, so it tasted ripped.”
I knew what he meant because, after all, we were brothers.
