Being introduced to a new school reminds me of being a small child in a stranger’s living room. The photos on the walls are new and often strange, and the only thing you can think of to do is sit and look around. In desperation you build the courage to blunder your way into several (wrong) rooms down the hall trying to find the bathroom. You learn the history of every object on every shelf (sometimes with interest and sometimes without) and every individual in family photos. You are told which rooms you can enter and which rooms to stay out of. The carpet is scratchy, there are no toys to play with and it seems like everyone in the room turns to check on you every few minutes, as if you could accidentally trip and crash into the lamp they inherited from Great-Aunt Beulah.
I am a child in a grown-up world. Everything is pleasing to the eye, I cannot find any bathrooms, and my questions are treated with tolerance or little attention. I am given more information than I can retain, am fascinated by the things that others have stopped noticing long ago and am shepherded from one building to another because I cannot be trusted to do anything unsupervised. I am not familiar with the location or purpose of anything on campus nor am I familiar with any figures of authority.
And all I really want to do is go play in the backyard.