Where's my fear...
I remember the fear of the first day best of all: A sweet flower blooming violently and vibrantly against a bleak backdrop that sent a feeling resonating around my body that I quickly grew to adore. Not that I'd never attended school before at the age of eight but it was my first day at my newest school. I remember myself biting hard down on my lip as I trembled like a mountain in an earthquake. A flimsy lunchbox with my favourite irrelevant child's character stuck hastily onto the face was clamped firmly between both of my hands and my generic black backpack clung onto my back which was - for a frail child - a rather overbalancing weight; keeping my profile in a backwards shape which wasn't wholly dissimilar to a backwards "C" although such shape was only very subtle and to only the most pedantic observer I had a perfectly straight profile when wearing the overstuffed bag: Packed by myself in a fit of nerves and anxiety which I would later come to learn was an unrefined form of anxiety disorder.
I looked up at the school's entrance, forcing a smile onto my face as my heart began to race with that euphoric, erratic beating and my body entered that hypersensitive sense of my surroundings I'd grow to adore as I took note of the weeds growing between the cement of the school walls, the bird faeces running down the rust bitten railings and the children's paintings strewn thoughtlessly across the walls that over time had begun to crack, fade and grow deformed as pictures of Disney characters I was rather fond of became eyeless grinning monsters; boring into me with their soulless eyes wherever I moved until I rushed blindly into the school through the worn wooden doors.
I was in 2nd grade, Miss Babcot's class. It was easy - even for my unintelligent self - to see why she was still a Miss rather than a Mrs and with a very brief psychoanalysis I imagine her being a teacher would be a result of her then very likely incapability of bearing children. Perhaps realising at a young age how she wouldn't be having children and even us as children could see why.
As I remember Miss Babcot was similar to a hippo - although that would be insulting to a hippopotamus - she was a similar size to one at the very least and as she shuffled past the line of children I'd been guided to by a very disgruntled receptionist I remember my eyes widening at her supreme size: Her feminine walk made her behind - which was large enough - appear much larger as it swung around, bouncing violently with each step as she struggled to pull all of her weight to the front of the line of children patiently waiting in-front of her dimly lit classroom.