When all the social media sites eventually implode under their own weight, I still want to see your back to school pictures

A tribute to the only good season for logging on

Here are a few varieties of back-to-school pictures that I love:

-First day of kindergarten pictures, especially ones where the student being celebrated has a barely-concealed look of abject terror on their face.

-Pictures where the student(s) in question are super into the whole back-to-school experience. New outfits. Big smiles. Hair just so. The whole nine yards.

-Pictures of surly teens, with or without parental captions explaining the various negotiations that took place to enable the tension-filled final product.

-[The best of all, if I’m being honest] pictures with eager, teeth-baring elementary schoolers AND surly teens forced to stand and (sort of) smile together, their dramatically different vibes bouncing off one another like hyper-charged filial electrons.

-Pictures from extremely together families that both purchased and still regularly utilize Those Chalkboards (you know the ones).

-Pictures that show up well after the first day of school— perhaps of a backpack on the floor, perhaps of an empty doorstep, perhaps of a disheveled mid-week student— with a sheepish “we forgot this year” caption.

-Pictures of grown-ups (childless or not) celebrating their own various first days (teacher first days, going-back-to-grad-school first days, semi-ironic “no new job, just a regular week” first days). I love every variety of adult first day pictures , but especially when the adult in question is either double strapping a back-pack OR (even better) holding one of Those Signs.

Am I missing any? Probably. That’s the point. This well never run dries. For balance, do you want to see a list of back to school pictures that I DON’T love? Too bad. That list doesn’t exist. That list is a blank page. I don’t care if the family taking and sharing the pictures are trying too hard or not trying hard enough. For one glorious month, as first day of school season snakes its way across the country, my approving gaze is unceasing. Show me your pictures. Every single one of them. Consider me your one man validation machine, a renewable resource that runs on vicarious joy.

Eleven months out of the year, this is my relationship to all the major social media sites:

-Facebook: I forget that it exists. That’s not a flex or a value judgment; it’s just a thing that happens. Occasionally, I get reminded that it's still there, like a friend relating some heinous drama on our neighborhood’s page. “Whoa,” I say, “sounds intense.”

-Instagram: It’s the primary social media site that I’ve told myself I need to utilize for work (book/newsletter/Barnraisers promotion), though the verdict is out on how good I am at it. It’s fine, I guess. I generally follow people whom I enjoy, and I’m pretty decent at not getting pulled into it (either the feed itself or the ads, which I regret to say are pretty effectively micro-targeted, mostly informing me about expensive baseball hats that I could purchase if I wanted).

-Twitter: Oh, I hate it. I occasionally decide that I need to be on there for professional reasons, but if I don’t keep my time there to the absolute bare minimum I just drown in bad vibes.

-LinkedIn: I do not understand it. Whenever I log on, I discover that there is a robust world of people who DO use LinkedIn quite a bit. If that’s the case for you, I hope you are happy. Sincerely. I’m just surprised that everybody has so much toy say about their jobs.

-TikTok: I am not on it socially, but occasionally I post there when I want to celebrate other writers. People tell me my posts about other writers are good, so maybe I should do them more often. And no, my very limited experience with that platform has not left me with a deeper understanding of Gen Z. To any members of Gen Z reading this, my love for you all does not require understanding. Keep doing you.

-All other social media platforms (Bluesky, Threads, etc.): I hear that they exist.

That’s all to say that, for most of the year, I cultivate a largely utilitarian approach to social media that works well enough for my needs. No judgment of those of you who use those sites more or less than me. We’re all swimming upstream here.

BUT! From mid-August to mid-September, I DO get pulled into Instagram. I DO remember that Facebook exists. And why wouldn't I? That’s where the pictures are! Pictures from friends, pictures from relatives, pictures from long-lost former colleagues and classmates. I like all of them, in both senes of the word. I like the hell out of them. I dole out hearts and laughing-crying faces like candy on Halloween (come to think of it, another great holiday for celebrating other people’s children). I run to my wife in the other room so that we can say “so cute!” in unison. She’s fully off social media, so this is my responsibility in our relationship, to be her consulate to a world of algorithmically delivered photographs. I take my job seriously. Suffice to say, we both like your photos. We like them very much.

Could I critique the whole practice if I wanted? Sure. There’s a lot that’s icky about my generation’s approach towards documenting our kids’ lives online. Plus, I’m sure that there are plenty of folks (especially couples that would like but can’t have kids) for whom the flood of child-focused pictures feels more tender. And I have no illusions as to how comparatively easy it is for me (a dad) to say “this is all just fun!” because I don’t fully understand the pressures on women to both perform motherhood in public and to do the extra work necessary to pull off that performance (I have a hunch as to whose handwriting is on those cute little chalkboards). I can hold all that and still say, though, that there is something simple and wonderful about this little modern tradition.

I love back to school season online, because in a world that does not love all of our kids equally, where parenting is often a hyper-competitive, status-oriented game, we get this anachronistic celebration of a milestone that is less an achievement than a human right. In a country with a public education system (which, despite the best efforts of the Project 2025ers of the world, the United States still does), every kid gets to go to school, which means, in turn, that every kid gets a first day of school. Poor kids. Rich kids. Kids of all racial and ethnic backgrounds. Queer kids. Trans kids. Kids for whom school is a beloved respite and kids for whom school hasn’t been great. Every kid gets a new school year, which is to say another chance to meet their best friend or be seen by a teacher in a new way or discover their greatest passion.

The truth is, I write a lot about how I wish parenting (especially parenting as practiced by White upper-middle-class parents) was less zero-sum and more expansively big-hearted. I can turn a pretty decent phrase about how much I long to be asked to care for all kids, not just my own. But if I’m being honest, I’m still learning how to do all that. Like many of us, I struggle to cultivate and sustain relationships beyond the four walls of my house. I click, click, click on that waterfall of back to school pictures and, more often than not, I’m reminded of relationships that I wish were stronger, of kids who are absolutely adorable but whom I’m not really showing up for, of parents who were once meaningful parts of my life but whom I owe a nice letter or phone call.

The reason why I love back to school picture season isn’t just about the direct act of celebrating others. it’s a reminder of how much I crave connection and common cause. I want to love you, even more so than I already do. I want to weave a wider and thicker web of relationship rooted in a spirit of transcendent mutualism. I want us to feel seen and heard not because of our or our children’s accomplishments, but because we’re all out here. Sharing this moment. Trying our best.

We’re still a couple weeks away from the first day of school here in Milwaukee, but for all those already in the zone, I hope, sincerely, that this year is the best year. Thanks for sharing it with the rest of us. What a gift.

End notes:

1. In an ideal world (well, ideal for me at least) Substack would allow pictures in its comments, and this comment thread would be filled with your back to school pictures. That’s not the case, though, and maybe for the best. You all probably have good reason for not dropping those shots in some random guys’ newsletter. But if all this inspires you to show me your back to school pictures, in whatever format works for you, just know that I will appreciate the hell out of them.

2. We’re soooo close you all. Those trainings I run through the Barnraisers Project? The ones where I teach you how to organize for justice in your communities (especially majority White communities)? I’m about to announce fall dates. If you haven’t yet, please join the interest list for the next sessions and read more about them here (they’re free, by the way, though donations are solicited at the end).

3. Hey! I could use your help! And by help, I mean “all this (the trainings and this newsletter and my other writing) is my day job and it would be awfully kind if you could chip in a bit.” Summer’s a tricky time, both because I have less time for paid work because I’m with my kids and also because it’s when a lot of subscriptions renew, which means there’s some understandable attrition. Down to lend a hand? That link below will work. Alternately, you can support by buying a book (it’s good! and outlines how I got to a place where I cared about community more than my own ego) or donating directly to the Barnraisers Project. Thank you, sincerely.

3. As you know, I am not hiding my delight about the bizarre but fleeting cultural moment we are sharing, where Tim Walz-based reasons, America’s hipper minds are temporarily interested in Midwestern Khaki Dads. In celebration, I did, in fact, make a playlist of what I’m calling Walz-Core. What is Walz-Core? Is it just dad rock? Kind of. If you read this interview, you’ll discover that America’s least spicy public figure is mostly a heartland rock partisan, but he wants you to know that he’s also into bands, particularly Minnesota-based bands, that were considered cool and avant garde in the late ‘80s. Although I’m younger than Walz, that combo speaks deeply to my soul for very specific “grew up in rural Montana but had older brothers attend Minnesota and Iowa-based liberal arts colleges in the early ‘90’s” reasons. For those of you familiar with Mankato, Minnesota radio stations (I assume all of you), I have no doubt that Tim Walz’s two pre-sets are KXLP and The Current. Anyway, here’s the playlist (on Spotify for now, if any of you want it on Apple Music let me know in comments or email). Hey man, is that freedom rock? Well then turn it up!

4. If you’re wondering, “what gives, Garrett? If you love school pictures so much, why aren’t you sharing any of yours? Good point. For one thing, my kids haven’t gone back to school yet this year, but also, for reasons that I hope make sense I try to keep public versions of this newsletter light on pictures of them. I will be sharing some of my favs from past year in this week’s subscribers-only post. Thanks for understanding. As a consolation (speaking of Mankato, Minnesota) those of you who follow me on Instagram know that I spend a fair bit of time in Tim Walz’s adopted hometown (for in-law based reasons) and that every time I go back I take a picture of this random parking lot that, befuddlingly, is home to FOUR PEPSI MACHINES. It’s a whole thing for me now. As soon as we get close, my daughter yells out “oh, here comes Daddy’s Four Pepsi Machines.” You know, normal family stuff. So I’m sorry. While I won’t be sharing pictures of my human children, I hope you enjoy this beautiful shot of my other four children, the ones that dispense the exact same selection of Pepsi products directly next to one another.