Steven LaChance Blog

“Try to remember the kind of September.” That line has been echoing in my head all day, and maybe it is because September once carried a very different meaning.

When I was young, Labor Day was not just a holiday. It was the last day of freedom before school began again. In St. Louis, we always started classes on the Tuesday after Labor Day and finished in the first week of June. That rhythm shaped our childhoods. Labor Day meant sharpened pencils and new shoes, the smell of chalk and floor polish waiting in the halls.

I think of my youth and I see my sister, who is now gone. She was three years older, and in those first school years I looked to her lead. If she could face it, then so could I. The memory of those days still lingers. The excitement of new clothes, the thrill of fresh supplies, and of course the lunch boxes that seemed to matter so much. I carried Snoopy’s doghouse, Scooby Doo, and even Casper the Friendly Ghost. There was magic in those first days, mixed with a little fear. Who would be in my class? Would the teacher be kind?

Life feels different now. Schools start earlier, and Labor Day has become more about cookouts and sales than the nervous anticipation of a new school year. Still, every September I feel that same tug of memory, and maybe that is why this song will not leave me alone.

It calls me back to a simpler time, when life moved slower and the seasons carried us forward with a rhythm we could trust. That is the September I remember, when the grass was green, when the days lingered, and when the future felt wide open. And always, in the middle of those memories, is my sister. She protected me from the cruel world, and I protected her in the ways I could. We protected each other. I miss those days. I miss her.