Repeating Dates

Today is 12/12/12, a date that hasn't occurred for a hundred years. On the last one, December 12, 1912, my grandmother—a young housewife living on either Hanover Avenue or Staunton Avenue in Roanoke—was six months pregnant with my mother. Her grandfather, a Civil War veteran, was still alive. The world on that 12/12/12 was considerably different than it is today.

December 12, 2012, dawned cloudy—and cooler than it's been for a while. We're in the midst of a drought. This fall is the driest it's been for ten years and the past few weeks have been unusually warm for November and December. Even some flowers are blooming, like the rosemary in my herb garden near the gazebo.

I remember my first repeating date. On May 5, 1955, I was in the fourth grade at Huff Lane Elementary School when my teacher, Mrs. Clark, told the class that today was 5-5-55. She told us that it would be eleven years, a month, and a day before we'd see another date line up like that.

Mrs. Clark and the 4th grade.
I'm in the striped dress on the center aisle on the right side.

On June 6, 1966, I'd just finished my junior year at Richmond Professional Institute (now VCU). My summer job would begin in a couple of weeks—working as an aide at a Head Start program for Roanoke County Schools. I'd be at Academy Street School in Salem that summer. I drove a blue and white 61 Ford Falcon. I was getting ready to be a bridesmaid in my roommate's wedding in mid-September.

On July 7, 1977, I was off for the summer from my teaching job at James Madison Junior High in Roanoke where I'd taught English, speech, and drama for five years. I was driving a new red Ford Pinto, a replacement for the 67 Firebird I'd bought when I signed my first teaching contract. I was still recuperating from a riding accident in March, and I'd just bought Blackie, my first horse. That summer, my husband and I went to Niagara Falls and walked across the bridge to Canada.

On August 8, 1988, I was a few weeks away from my last year teaching at Stonewall Jackson Junior High. I was driving a silver 76 Camaro, my favorite car. I was trail riding and showing Cupcake, my second horse. I owned am 80-something green Chevy Longhorn truck.

On September 9, 1999, we'd lived in Penhook for a month. I'd been retired from Roanoke City Schools for two years, but I was still driving a Camaro I now had a 94 Dodge truck, too. I'd just finished an English-teaching stint at ECPI in Roanoke and had started a part-time adjunct English instructor job at Ferrum College. And I had two horses.

Then the repeating dates came closer together: 1/1/01, 2/2/02, etc., if you count the years with those extra zeros.  Like them, 10/10/10 and 11/11/11 and today—12/12/12—were each separated by a year, a month, and a day. But today breaks the string—at least until February 2, 2022. Maybe I'll still be around for that one. Time will—I suppose—tell.

But I won't see another 12/12/12.

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