Lara Patangan: A new school year and the simple lessons learned in the stillness of summer

Dante wrote about the nine circles of hell, but I’ve discovered the 10th — shopping for school supplies. I used to enjoy it. After all, the possibilities of a blank sheet of wide-ruled notebook paper are limitless. Still, there is a downside to the scavenger hunt to find plastic folders with prongs, binders by the inch and a pencil bag for the 72 mechanical pencils on the list. Am I shopping for a small village or a fourth grader? 

School supplies shopping means summer is over.

I had many reasons for waiting until the day before school starts to go and every one of them began with the word "denial." Admittedly, denial is a beautiful place to live. Every time I ignored the school supply ads filling my Sunday newspaper, I felt as if I stretched summer a little further. The same marketers who put Christmas decorations out before Halloween candy weren't stealing one day of summertime bliss from my family.

The night before the first day of school, reality beckoned. After an hour in the office supply store searching for the notebooks, pens, highlighters and calculators — making sure we had the right colors and the right quantities of each, I was kind of over the limitless possibilities of a blank piece of notebook paper. We crossed out most of the items on the list except for the ever-elusive pencil bag. Apparently, all of the pencil bags which are not glittery pink or SpongeBob Square Pants had been sold to moms who shopped for school supplies right after the last sparkler burned out on July 4.

While the thought of driving across town to another store to find just the right pencil bag seemed outside the bounds of sanity, I agreed. After all, when you invest in 72 mechanical pencils (and lead refills), you’ve obviously seen crazier. I estimated I had 10 more minutes of indecision to endure while my son finished sorting all the fun-shaped flash drives in the bin, deciding which surfboard design he liked best.

Meanwhile, the store salesman came over and asked how we were doing. Unlike most people, he actually waited for an answer. I had so many thoughts at this moment that had nothing to do with the appropriate responses of "fine," "good" or "woo-hoo." I mean, we are about to buy 72 mechanical pencils and a flash-drive that looks like a surfboard! 

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Instead, my mouth felt like it had been sealed shut with non-toxic Elmer’s glue and I couldn’t make a suitable response.

I stood there frozen, thinking of all the things I could tell him about our amazing summer — how we stayed out on the beach until the sun went down and the moon came up; how we played Monopoly and I lost every single game, but had a really fun time anyway; how we watched all the Harry Potter movies, ate popcorn and stayed up too late; how my son went to sleep-away camp for the first time and I survived; how we found kittens in my neighbor’s yard and became so smitten that we now have three cats; how my boys have grown so much taller since the last time they had to use a mechanical pencil; how my husband and I went on long walks, where I told him how badly I wanted time to stop and the togetherness to remain; but what really made it wonderful was the precious time we had together at the slower pace of summer.

But since I didn’t want to have a breakdown in Staples, I just smiled really big but couldn't get any words out. So he spoke to my boys, whose mouths seemed to work better than mine. Finally, my son picked out the surfboard-shaped flash drive that within two months will be lost, either somewhere in his room or in his locker. I liked the design and hoped it would remind him of our lazy days at the beach.

Summer has become such a sacred time. There is no juggling overloaded schedules, no mad rush to get out the door, finish assignments or participate in the myriad of extracurricular activities that fill the calendar. Everything seems to stop in the stillness of summer and what we learn are simple but important lessons about who we are as a family. I know summers with my children are finite and I guess shopping for schools supplies every August is too.

As the cashier hands over the ribbons of receipts, the moment is bittersweet. I am thrilled to walk out of the warehouse of mechanical pencils and neon-color highlighters, but I am sad to see summer end. I picture myself riding out of the 10th circle of hell on my son’s surfboard flash drive onto one of the 1,000 sheets of blank notebook paper I just purchased.

The possibilities are limitless.

Lara C. Patangan is an inspirational author and speaker who writes about faith at larapatangan.com. Her book, “Simple Mercies,” is available now. 

This guest column is the opinion of the author and does not necessarily represent the views of the Times-Union. We welcome a diversity of opinions. 

This article originally appeared on Florida Times-Union: Lara Patangan: Simple lessons learned in the stillness of summer