There He Goes

August 17, 2018

He kisses our hands. We tell him we love him. We tell him that he will have a good day. Then we step away from him, his mother and I. He comes back asking if we are going to leave. His mother is steady. Your friend is waiting, she tells him, and the boy with the Chinese dragon shirt walks back to his seat.

It feels strange as we walk away from our last child’s first day of school. Leading up to this day, we prayed that he would detach easily, but we had no idea it would be this seamless. We expected tears. Pleading. Twiggy arms wrapped around legs like ivy on Corinthian columns.

We half expect to hear footsteps following us to the car. Two-thirds expect to hear a shriek. Three-fourths expect to get a text message from the teacher, telling us that our son is crying in a corner. But instead, we make small talk with a few other parents and drive off.

During the day, I think about him often. I try to imagine what he is doing. Is he coloring carefully, tongue peeking out of his mouth? Is he eating the good stuff in his lunch first? Is he sliding down slides and running around with random abandon?

Seven hours later, we’re heading down the hill to pick up Mr. E. His teacher sees us coming. And just like that, he is in front of us, holding his froggy lunch box and pink gift bag. The dragon on his shirt eyes us coolly, but the boy beams with some pride over a first day finished and with a little relief that his parents have actually shown up.

On the ride back, he is a bit quiet. We pull remnants out about his day. He ended up getting some tears in his eyes during the day. He had to go to the bathroom a lot, but he knows the procedure. Later, over some first-day cookies from his cousin (aka his aunt), he reflects on his day: “I like school. Um…just this first day made me love it…without my parents.”

As the evening goes on, he starts to talk even more. He explains the lunch policy and how he can’t share food with classmates. He tells us about a little boy who seemed to miss his parents a lot. He talks about the classroom procedures. “Do you know what procedures are?” he asks. He tells me with urgency that he needs to remember something for show and tell. We settle on a Pokemon ball and some strange invertebrate character to pack inside.

There are a few near meltdowns, one over getting green paint in his yellow paint. His mother handles this by deftly placing a paper towel over the paint, which sops up the jealous green. The other bit of umbrage is over a worship story where a macaw has the audacity to defend its life against a cat. Apparently, the bird got a little too rough with the homicidal fur ball, so this sends him running off to bed.

Approaching tomorrow, there seems to be no anxiety from our schoolboy, only anticipation. He adores his teacher, and the feeling seems mutual. One day down, 179 to go. But before the next day comes, I’ll place a kiss on his sleeping forehead, tell him I love him, and perchance to dream of twisting ivy and dragons that are not quite ready to let go.

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2 Responses to “There He Goes”

  1. Debbie Says:

    Thanks for an update on the rest of the evening. What a great guy you have there! I am happy he got a family send-off.


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