Walking up the paved sidewalk everyday to Hillsmere Elementary School, I saw the American flag fluttering in the wind, almost as if its job was to greet me. The flower bushes had a plethora of colors ranging from the lightest yellow to the deepest red. The cherry blossom trees stood alongside the entrance with the softest, most subtle pink blossoms sprouting out of the twig like branches. The doors of the school were a dark forest green, but the border was outlined with shards of colorful glass making a mosaic of the Chesapeake Bay. Inside the school I’d smell the must of old furniture and textbooks, carefully hidden by a combination of the cafeteria’s food and fake floral room spray.

Looking back on the years in elementary school, I’ve realized how far I’ve come, how much I’ve matured. Socially, I’ve learned the street smarts to becoming a successful and more accomplished fifth grader. Those once tall, orange monkey bars elevated on a small sand bank don’t look so tall anymore. Neither can I believe that if I dare take a step onto the cinnamon colored woodchips on the playground that I’ll die. As much as learning the ABC’s and 123’s helped me, the non–academic aspects of learning were also very beneficial.
Over the years I’ve learned to never tell secrets that I’m not willing to share. I remember my friend running up to me with a dress full of mud, her dirty blond hair slicked back into a braid, with an oversized pink ribbon tied loosely in her hair. She tells me, “Secrets aren’t fun, unless their shared with everyone.” From there on out I never once told her any of my secrets.
Every day I would hear my first grade teacher, Ms. Paone’s raspy voice call out to the class, “Don’t forget to date your paper,” or “Don’t forget to indent new paragraphs.” I noticed her youthful face became more defined as she grew older, and her rich brown hair change to gray. She was a teacher known for her “7- Eleven” big gulps she brought to school every morning. Her cup was filled to the brim with diet coke and fresh ice. The long green straw stuck out of the top of the lid, and on the end of the straw she left a cherry red lipstick stain.
In class, I would never sit primly in the front the room, with my hand raised perpendicular to the ground. Instead, I would slouch in my seat, with my elbow casually rested on the desk. I was told a number of times, to sit up in my seat and stop talking. I guess I soon caught the drift things because as I matured, I realized myself to be the one sitting in a desk shoulders back, with my hand raised perpendicular to the ground.

My friends and I would always be together playing on the playground everyday. We would go about mastering flips on the monkey bars or playing kickball on the baseball field with the boys. I can still remember my friend’s youthful faces even though they’re older. Their personalities have stuck with me as well, since I’ve moved it’s different to look back and say to myself, “Wow she’s changed a lot.” Kathryn, one of my closest friends has changed the most. In her elementary years, she always used to wear long athletic shorts that went down to her knees; she’d also wear a royal blue soccer sweatshirt with her name signed on the back in silvery white letters Now, she wears skirts and dresses and abhors not looking her best. Another one of my friends, Elizabeth, would always exceed in school and out. She would always try her best, and would always end up being successful at overcoming any obstacle that came in her way. Looking up at her now, she stands nearly six feet tall, with a long torso and tall muscular legs. She has bleach blonde hair, blue eyes and a long narrow face. She has grown to become a more responsible person that does always as told, however she’s not a pushover, she’s just a tad blunt.

Seeing these familiar, yet distant faces makes me think of all the fun times I had, while going through elementary school. The memories from school and with friends have taught me lessons that have helped me be a better person. Moving away from Annapolis has been one of the hardest things I’ve faced, because that’s where I was raised. Being able to remember and preserve the cherished moments means the most.

Whenever I go back to Hillsmere, I still see the mud covered faces of classmates, with yesterday’s lunch smeared across their shirts, like paint on a canvas. I see a class of five year olds, with sticky fingers from Elmer’s glue used during craft time. Lastly I see the flag fanning in the wind as if its job is to welcome me home.