You know it's the first day because eighteen-year-olds are driving on the bike paths and cops are escorting girls in skirts back to campus. You know it’s the first week because you can hear them chanting from your third-story office window. You get the sense that the kind of learning that’s going on isn’t the kind of learning that is written in books. You are supposed to teach them but it’s hard when you remember how important it all felt, befriending roommates and getting lost in buildings. Too many firsts. Enjoy them, you say, because you’ll only get them once.
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