An old, wood-framed screen door - they aren’t around much anymore and when you do see one, it is generally in a second-hand shop or salvage store, having seen its better days somewhere in the echoes of a distant past. I grew up in an era of screen doors - all of my grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ homes had them hanging on either their front or back entrances, or both, usually in varying degrees of sag and droop. The screen door was functional in those days, though. In the days before air conditioned homes, a screen door allowed the rare summer breezes to pass through the front room and offer a brief respite from the sultry heat that July and August brought to this part of the world, while at the same time keeping those pesky roaming and flying critters - namely barn cats, laying hens, mosquitos, and the occasional porch possum - in their own outdoor element. It would never do, in Granny’s eyes, to have mid-afternoon company drop by and have a wayward chicken stroll through the living room while she was serving iced tea and oatmeal cookies to the visiting preacher and his wife, which is to say nothing of the potential of such creatures to soil her living room throw rug - an action that would necessitate her having to do her spring-cleaning, beat-the-rug-on-the-front-fence all over again during the hottest part of the year. The screen doors that I recall were all painted white - all of them had cracked wood and peeling paint; three of them had old, tarnished turnbuckles that did the best they could in their constant struggle against the aforementioned sag and droop. The fourth one had no turnbuckle at all, just a rusty piece of old baling wire affixed to two even rustier wood screws - one at the top on the left side, and one on the bottom on the right. That piece of wire had never been tight in my lifetime, which always made me wonder about the true purpose it served - perhaps it was that screen doors were just supposed to have something to prevent them from slumping, and this was the most practical solution for a frugal couple that had seen many difficult times in their 50-plus years of togetherness. 

I miss screen doors. I miss the simple days of iced tea and oatmeal cookies on a hot and lazy summer day; I miss cats on the porch and chickens in the yard and the days when company dropped by on a weekday afternoon. I miss leaving your front door open all day long, and the days of letting the screen door serve its purpose - a way of keeping the aggravating, everyday elements of life where they belonged, while still allowing pleasantries such as a nice summer breeze and the raucous din of kids at play to pass into the house. I miss the days of being able to leave your front door open and the screen door unlocked, even for a trip to the store, because you knew that if anyone happened to come to your house while you weren’t there, they’d immediately call you later to see if everything was alright, or, if they were close friends or family, would go on in and make themselves at home until you returned. I miss the days of Grandad’s scoldings - “Stop that running through this house”, and “Don’t let that screen door slam”; he was gruff, but you knew that, as a grandkid, you could let that screen door slam a hundred times a day and you’d never get in trouble for it. I miss those old screen doors - the ones with the paint rubbed off and the wood worn at the exact spot under the door pull where hand after hand had opened that screen door for decades. 

Why do I miss screen doors so much? I miss them for a number of reasons, but I think the main one is because when I was younger, the homes of my grandparents were places where I could be anything I wanted, spaces that were free of ridicule and mockery, places that were safe and inviting and welcoming and tolerant of any of the notions, impulses, and whimsies of childhood. I want you to feel the same way about this classroom - I want you to regard it as a place that is diverse and welcoming and accepting and inclusive and embracing of all views, and where you can express your thoughts and beliefs and ideas through the magic of the written word. I also want you to feel safe here, and for you to understand that I want this room to be not only welcoming, but also a place where you are comfortable to be yourself. The screen door is our reminder - not just yours, but mine as well - that whenever we come into the room, the good things from outside of it - our joy, our happiness, our friendships - like those cool breezes or the laughter of children, are still with us. The aggravating things - like the test grade in another class that wasn’t up to our standards or the traffic on the way to school this morning or that pesky lunch detention for being tardy - like those bugs and mosquitos and the sulky barn cats, can stay outside, even if it is only for an hour each day. I am excited about this year, and for the opportunity to have each of you in my class. As an old colleague of mine, Tim Mabe, used to say, and as you’ll hear me refer to often this coming year, “This is my mind and heart to you; you’re here, and I’m glad!” - Coach B