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ʑhese late summer days are beautiful . . . The bittersweet taste of long passed cuisine

lingers still in my mouth. These foods that were intertwined with the late nights and music, the

good times. I long for those days, even though that final light is still lit on summer's calendar.

This final light hints at the impending doom lying beyond in darkness. But it also hints at the

Cheap Custom Essays on Lots of Peas

birth of a new era in my life. "They are not long the days of wine and roses . . . ," Ernest Dawson

noted. These days are not long for a reason. Summer like a good movie, must always end. Even

though Labor Day whispers the end of rest and relaxation, it ushers in a better vacation - school.

School is the time where I may catch up with long overdue gossip, make new everlasting

friendships at the first class on the first day of school, and shatter old ones through the gossip

shed over the summer months. That final day in summer also reveals the responsibilities that life

has in store. That is because as every year fades, I am introduced to new challenges and tasks.

Labor Day may centrifuge summer, and infringe my generation's so called "right" to party all

day, but it also makes me aware that the corrosive hands of time struggle to dissolve my

adolescence. This is why as summer dwindles past, and Labor Day approaches, I welcome it. I

welcome the change in my life and for better or worse, I accept it.

I accept the new friendships that Labor Day introduces, by ushering in the dreadful first

period of the first day of school. And I also accept the doomed friendships that were forged in the

heat of summer and brought to their knees as summer ended. I love catching up on the old gossip

that was etched on summer's grave about the prom queen catching the prom king sleeping with

her mother. And I love watching and acting out the gossip to be. I love the new challenges that

are brought out in school. It's almost like an epic struggle between me and 'The Perfect Project,'

that always has to be double spaced and size twelve font. The perfect project that mocks me

every time a simple pencil mark wont erase on the perfectly non-erasable construction paper. The

perfect project that has to not only be 10 pages long, but has to bore its reader with so-called

interesting facts and fascinating storylines that took place 100 years ago and has no bearing on

my life what-so-ever. I love the smell of the newly waxed floors as I step into the school a few

days early to pay my fees in the musky business office. I love the panic of my friends trying to

find locker partners and to find out what to do and where to go on the first day. I love the

challenges of school that Labor Day rings in. If any of it brings me to my knees, I dust myself off

and try again, such as that pesky algebraic problem that cannot be solved as it has two unknowns.

Or that Social Studies assignment about Mr. Inventor and Mrs. Revolutionary that always seems

to turn out politically incorrect. Or when I failed my first physics exam, and found out my

calculator was on Radian mode. It all takes time and patience.

Little things become crucial, such as waking up earlier than 1pm to get to school, doing

daily revision of what you have learnt (even though you should have been studying during

summer), or even remembering your lunch or lunch money so you don't go hungry at lunch hour.

These things may be small, but every year they add up over time, until finally, you have actually

become an adult and your adolescence is but a glimmer of a thought behind you.

Labor Day reminds you that you are growing older. When you are in Grade Seven and are

so relaxed, you haven't a care in the world. Summer comes and goes, but every year you grow

older and wiser. With every bit of this new found knowledge, it engulfs your childhood and

adolescence in an illusion of smoke and mirrors only to be remembered as a mere dream. Before

I know it, I am no longer accustomed to summer and Labor Day doesn't ring the bell of a new

school year. It changes meaning quickly. It doesn't symbolize the end of my relaxation, or the

beginning of another grade. It starts to be shown for what it really is - a day to commemorate the

working class, which starts to mean more to me, as I slowly become part of it...

As several summers pass, I tend to realize a bit more - like every summer grants me a

piece of a jigsaw puzzle. As the years pass by, the puzzle becomes complete and I realize that

these years are not in vein. The friendships long passed that were not invincible from the winds

of time, and the bonds that yet to be broken are not in vein. The stupid mistake I made on that

math quiz years ago isn't meaningless. The years of pine-sol filled hallways and listening to the

fabricated lives of the jocks and the upstanding students was not in vein. That time I put in the

extra hour or so of effort into a rehearsal wasn't meaningless. These events are the foundation on

which we grow, no matter how minuscule they might seem. That extra hour of rehearsal time

taught me to never do satisfactory work. Those years of listening to the perfect, preppy lives of

the rich and careless taught me to be happy with what I have and have no regrets. Those

friendships that were lost taught me to be more careful about character judgement and the ones

that lasted taught me to reward myself for making the right choices. That math mistake taught me

to always double check my answer. Every one of these episodes are sewn into the fabric of my

life. They taught me what was needed to succeed in life... And for that, I thank you labor day. I

thank you for the cruelty you have unleashed on me year after year, for it has paid off.

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