i will join the chorus of parents across the nation, picking up my part in the boisterous refrain: i can't believe that summer is over and school is beginning. but, whether i believe it or not, here it is. in about an hour, i will drop off jackson and caedmon at the bus stop, and entrust their care to the teachers and administrators of NCS, hoping that they treat my children with care and understanding, and that my kids behave themselves and make me proud.
there is such a humbling loss of control associated with the first day of school. when i see their little faces framed in that tiny bus window rectangle, as it pulls them off to new faces and new friends and new routines and new situations and new ideas and new words and new rules and new expectations and new pencils and new teachers, i am just about overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. normally, when they are faced with the unfamiliar, i am there to hold their hand, to offer instruction and correction as needed, and to clearly define the boundaries for them. for the next 7 hours they are going to have to manage without daddy's hand, instructions, corrections and firm but loving guidance.
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will they figure out what bus to get on in the afternoon? will their teachers see how precious they are? will they make good friends? will they talk about things with their friends, or overhear things that i think they're nowhere near ready to hear? will they be so shy that they don't talk to anyone? will they learn to love learning the way i do? will i be able to make it through the day without being reduced to a bawling idiot? these are the questions of the first day of school, that will soon be replaced by other, more pressing questions like, "why didn't you eat your sandwich at lunch?" and "what do you mean you would rather watch ninjago than do your homework?" but for now, these are the questions that justify my extra-wet eyes. must be allergies.
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there is such a humbling loss of control associated with the first day of school. when i see their little faces framed in that tiny bus window rectangle, as it pulls them off to new faces and new friends and new routines and new situations and new ideas and new words and new rules and new expectations and new pencils and new teachers, i am just about overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. normally, when they are faced with the unfamiliar, i am there to hold their hand, to offer instruction and correction as needed, and to clearly define the boundaries for them. for the next 7 hours they are going to have to manage without daddy's hand, instructions, corrections and firm but loving guidance.
_enhanced.jpg)
_enhanced.jpg)
will they figure out what bus to get on in the afternoon? will their teachers see how precious they are? will they make good friends? will they talk about things with their friends, or overhear things that i think they're nowhere near ready to hear? will they be so shy that they don't talk to anyone? will they learn to love learning the way i do? will i be able to make it through the day without being reduced to a bawling idiot? these are the questions of the first day of school, that will soon be replaced by other, more pressing questions like, "why didn't you eat your sandwich at lunch?" and "what do you mean you would rather watch ninjago than do your homework?" but for now, these are the questions that justify my extra-wet eyes. must be allergies.
_enhanced.jpg)
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