Little kids can’t hog the fresh pencils and Crayola crayons of back-to-school time any more. The college crowd can have their microwaves, U-haul trailers, and multidimensional puzzle pieces (“How are you going to fit all that into a room with three other people, sweetie?”). End of summer is a great time for Mom and Dad, or Grammie and Grampa to plan and execute their own return to the delights of school – educational and otherwise. I promised to return to the topic for an older set of back-to-schoolers. Here’s a road map of real and unreal suggestions. Major in the most useless subject you can think of. Did you end your first-run schooling aiming at some sort of trade or another? Now’s your chance to fight back. The Harvard Extension School catalogue is online at extension.harvard.edu. Try “History of Witchcraft and Charm Magic,” taught by Stephen Mitchell. You’ll be the talk the town, or at least make everyone uneasy down at your regular house of worship. I audited a folklore class with Stephen, and my annual cycle of holidays and family gatherings has been richer ever since. How about “Pyramid Schemes: The Archaeological History of Ancient Egypt?” What could be more fascinating?

Harvard Extension remains my favorite resource for deep wool gathering. The classes, by and large, are taught by the same faculty that teaches the world’s brightest young stars, and the only accommodations for extension students are these: open admission (sign up and pay) and evening class hours. The reading, workload, and most importantly, the caliber of the instruction, are the same. Indeed, a Harvard Extension degree, if you go all serious on this plan, is just what it says: a Harvard degree. You’ll miss out on some of the bizarre social aspects of the old college, but you can make up for it a little by taking a class or two on the history of Harvard.

On the home front, be prepared to consolidate the gains you’ve made by launching offspring into their new dorm or apartment. Remember that den you always wanted, or sewing room? Now’s your chance. Since Skip or Missy won’t be back until November, they won’t need all that space, all those comics, or that bed. When they come home on their first holiday, they won’t be sleeping much at your house anyhow. They may not sleep at all. They certainly won’t notice that you don’t think they live there anymore, as long as you cook their favorite food and leave it out for them. Here’s a bonus: combine the new room allocation with one of those night classes you sign up for. Adult students are famous for actually doing their homework. You’ll have a place to do it! That pyramid class may require some direct experience, and you’ll be able to build that diorama you’ve always dreamed of. Your kids built theirs in shoeboxes. Yours can fill the room.

The social aspects of resuming your education, even if only for fun, pose a problem. Oldsters (yes, that means you) make youngsters uneasy. Facebook and other social media have opened a new venue for us. Reconnect with the actual kids from the old class of mumble-mumble, when department stores closed at six and banks closed at three. As their children and grandchildren teach them how to use computers, many are starting to go online and learn how to make themselves available. My high school class of 1967 has a vibrant site, and yours will, too. My college class of 1971 is doing the same. Like your kids, you may keep these contacts and reconnections electronic, or you may find out that coffee and dinner is a better way to reconnect. I found a kid from my grade school who, it turns out, spends a week on the Cape with his family every year.

But be prepared. Some, like you, will look just as smashing as ever. Others will have added some drapery to those sleek lines of yesteryear, and will sport a very different hair color. Many will have lived richer lives, many poorer than you expected. Trust that most will be happy to hear from you, and stand by to impress them with your new-found knowledge of, say, pyramids and ancient Egyptians.