I loved school before it even began. On Saturday mornings when my mother looked at patterns in the back of Woolworth’s, she let me wander over to the book section. I was allowed one study book each week. Even though I hadn’t started Kindergarten, I got to choose from the first grade section. Sunday afternoons she helped me with my numbers, my letters, and I was saved.

Even in all this comfort, I found a way to worry. Maybe not in the normal sense. I wasn’t afraid of the approaching school date, no, it all just meant so much. I knew it was important. I could feel it from my baretted bangs down to my bumper tennis shoes. Where should I sit on the first bus ride? Will the desks be assigned? Where will I put my books? I asked the questions over and over again to anyone who would listen. My “anyones” at the time happened to be my mother and my grandfather. I knew that he had once given her the same advice, because her answer was the same as his — “When given the chance, or even when you have to just take it, go to the front.”

I repeated it in my head as I waited by the mailboxes for the big yellow ride to school. “Go to the front. Go to the front.” The air brakes whistled. He opened the door. I hopped the stairs and sat in the first seat. I had full view as we picked up all the other students. Some eager. Some angry. Some ready. Some being dragged. I was first off at Washington Elementary. I walked up the stairs to large doors. Turned to the right. Down the stairs. The morning sun lit up the desks. I sat in the front row, and I was saved.

I suppose she heard the same words going over and over in her head, even on her lowest days, as she forced herself to the front desk of the Superintendent’s office. People still tell me she was the first person to greet them as they came to teach. To learn. To work at Independent School District 206. She didn’t just go to the front — she WAS the front!

It’s not lost on me. I use it still. Placing my books on the shelf. My art on the walls. Not out of arrogance, but from a sense of belonging. It everything to be raised in love, not fear. That doesn’t mean I was never, am never, afraid. Of course I am. There is no bravery without being afraid. But I take my chances, even when they aren’t so obvious, and I put myself in the front row (my anyones beside me). Not always safe, but forever saved.