The day is nearing.
It is a day I have both looked forward to and held with
trepidation. No, I am not a first timer
as you might assume. I have actually
done this three times before. Instead of
making me a pro, my previous experience has left me vulnerable and tender. I know what can go well and I see the
excitement and anticipation in those little eyes. But you see, I know now
what can go
wrong. 
My youngest child is going to kindergarten.
When my oldest
child made the leap into schooldom 14 years ago, I was a young and still naive
mother. I didn’t cry at the front door
like many moms, why cry? She was
excited. I was excited. I photographed her every movement and waved
maniacally as she marched happily away to the astounding destiny I was sure
awaited her. I was certain all teachers
would automatically see the exceptional child I knew and loved. She would be revered and adored throughout
the 13 years of her education. I only
had one child at the time. I knew nothing
yet! School is a magical place of
learning and growth – right??
There are
certainly days they rush home filled with stories of triumph and success. Those days when your eyes blur with the tears
your child doesn’t understand. “Mom,
today was awesome! Why are you crying?” The truth is however, most days are just
normal. “How was your day?” “Fine.”
They eat their after school snack with little to share of their daytime
escapades. They may list off some
minutiae of the day and you listen warmly because minutiae means it really was
a good day. You see; now I know about those other days. For the most part “those other days” are
usually few and far between but those time periods can be terrible.
Let’s face
it. Kids can be mean! When my now 12 year old son was in
kindergarten he came home from school one day, got every single one of his
dinosaurs, placed them in a protective circle around our dining room table, and
then hid under the table. After joining
him in his protected lair and waiting patiently for quite a long while – I
finally managed to wheedle the story out of him. A boy on the bus told him he was going to
come to my son’s house and shoot him. His
little tear stained face was so scared. My
daughter who is now in college was called “bucky tooth beaver” on the school bus
daily until we got braces on; well I will admit it now, her rather protruding
front teeth. Additionally her entire 7th
grade year was just brutal! This list
could go on and on and my children have been very lucky in the “kids will be
mean” category. There is some terribly
bullying that goes on out there in the world.
Then there are
the lists of potentially embarrassing situations that can occur. I have a distinct memory of standing in a
bathroom stall in 1st grade, desperate to call my mother for clean
clothing but equally desperate to stay in said bathroom stall for the rest of
my life (it was a whole tights and too much clothing to take off thing). Entire children’s book series have been
written based on the humiliation of the school years. What in the world are we thinking, sending
our children off to these torture camps?
The point is, I am
not the young (really really not young) naive mother I used to be. I’m a little
scared now. I have learned over the
years that not every school year is a wonderful, enchanting one. It’s my baby’s turn. He is our trailer baby. I thought I was done having children and we
had a surprise, tag along baby at the end.
We all adore him. I don’t think
anyone has ever been mean to him ever in his little life and now I have to send
him off to the barbarians?
In many ways it
will look exactly the same as it did 14 years ago. I will photograph his every movement. I really am pretty sure once again that he
has an astounding destiny awaiting him.
His teachers will adore him – how could they not? The difference can’t be seen. It lays hidden in my heart. I know the possible perils ahead. I know there will be days that my little guy
will come home with tears and tales of sadness.
I know that it is my job to help him frame those experiences in ways
that make him stronger and more resilient.
I also know, that I can’t do anything about it. It is the helplessness that will cause my
tears. The tears that I will hide. I will smile.
I will hug him and wave energetically but as I walk home after leaving
my baby boy in the hands of his capable teacher, I know the tears will flow in
a way they didn’t 14 years ago. Because
now I know…….
