I still remember my first day of kindergarten, going to classes, making friends, but most importantly it was my first day in aftercare. Aftercare was a program designed to take care of kids whose parents could not pick them up in the regular carpool for various reasons. I was so nervous that first day, wandering around with no other kids my age in sight. I remember doing my handwriting homework at Mrs. Lily's direction and then having snacks with the other kids. After a few hours, my dad came and took me home.

After a couple years I had begun to acclimate to my new environment. I made friends with the older kids and adopted their hobbies. I learned how to play Pokémon and other games, passing the hours until our parents arrived. It was a somewhat peaceful time, the youngest kids coloring and whizzing around while Mrs. Lily tried to control them. The slightly older kids playing video games and passing the time with pickup games of dodgeball. Even the really "old" middle schoolers joyfully played crazy 8's with the first graders on rainy days.

Every day of my life at school concluded with a long stay at aftercare. Friends from class would stop by every once and a while but their presence was fleeting. The people I spent my time with day in and day out in aftercare were my new family. A group apart from both my home life and my friends at school. From my seat in the cafeteria, I watched the seasons change. I even celebrated each of the holidays with my aftercare family if only for the three or so hours I saw them each day. My bizarre patchwork family had become a key part of my young life.

As I grew older, the world grew colder. I began to move toward my brooding teenage years and my perspective changed. I was in constant pain both from physical ailments and my untreated depression. I sat on the cold stones and watched the next generation as they climbed on the very same playgrounds that I had grown up on myself. I began to bond more with Mrs. Lily, playing poker with her and helping her manage the kids and the various tasks that needed to be accomplished.

During this time in my life, I spent hours alone, pondering my life, pondering my suffering. I began to hate aftercare. Solitude can make a man lose his sanity and I was no exception. I remember the winters I spent outside, counting down the hours until my parents would come to pick me up. I began to look for someone to blame. After all, it was my parents who left me there, they left me alone in their pursuit of gold, but I guess it couldn't be helped. This time, these dark hours of solitude stuck with me and still shape me today.

Eventually, I matured a bit more and my aftercare experience changed yet again. I was extremely jaded, but I also had a new role in my final years. I saw the next wave of bright-eyed kiddos join the aftercare fold and tried to give them a helping hand. Even in great sorrow, you still make a difference for others in need and that is a lesson worth taking home.

The experiences and stories I still carry from aftercare are too immense to count. If you see me, be sure to ask about it if you're interested. It was one of the experiences that truly shaped who I am as a person, for better or worse and I'm sure some of you out there have similar experiences. I look forward to hearing from you all and thank you for reaching out on the article last week as well!