As children, from a certain age, we didn’t know how well off we were. Long before the advent of Tandy computers and 6” screens, we had portable devices of our own. They were called pencils.

Incredibly, I still have one from my childhood school. It’s light blue, with the words “San Francisco School System” proudly printed in white on the side. One might wonder how (or why) I’d have a pencil that is nearly 75 years old. However, anyone who knows me well will understand. Spring Valley Elementary School on Jackson Street in San Francisco handed out these pencils (free, I might add) to any student. Since I love new pencils, with the freshly sharpened smell, I probably asked for one every day. No one seemed to be concerned that I went through them at the speed of light.

Many years after I left Spring Valley, I was driving down Jackson Street and passed the school. I pulled over, parked, and went inside for the first time in decades. The first thing I noticed was that the school smelled exactly like it did when I was a student there. You had to spend years at the school to know what I mean. I wandered into what was my kindergarten class. It looked the same, with small tables and tiny chairs. In a few moments, a young teacher walked in and, thinking that I was someone’s grandparent, cheerfully asked if she could help me in any way.

I replied that I’d been a student in that very classroom as a child. She was thrilled. It was like I’d opened a door for her to peer into and to imagine what it must have been like “then.” She was so excited, she asked me if I’d like to go upstairs to the principal’s office to meet her. I declined the opportunity to meet the principal. However, I did walk upstairs, and as I rounded the corner, I saw the exact same white bench outside her office that was there when I was a student. I remembered it all too well.