First Day of School

The Day Before

A thousand emotions overwhelm the young parents because tomorrow their little girl, born five years ago this past July, will be sent out into the world via kindergarten, commencing at least thirteen years of basically five-day-a-week learning and playing and finding and losing and growing and hurting, all experiences and events consuming her time and energy, and theirs, too...starting at 8:15 am, when mom will escort her into the big building, where big kids–fifth, sixth graders!–will tower over her and make her feel small just when she is feeling so very grown up, confusing her and frightening them, until when, at 3:30 pm, mom will appear in the classroom door and see their precious one, just shared for seven solid hours with a teacher and contemporaries the family hardly knows: so relieved, so proud, all of them.

The Morning of the Day Itself

She scrambles out of bed at 6:00 am eager to be off to school this first morning it won't always be that way eat a good breakfast now put on your new outfit here your backpack help me put your lunch in it take a picture to send to grandma and grandpa get in the car arrive at school so many kids and parents around here take my hand so I can show you the way pay attention soon you will have to find your own way to your room remember your teacher met her last week at that meeting teacher shows the little girl her cubby your back pack in here and sit down on one of the circles on the floor mom steps backward toward the door waves a weak good-bye swallows hard goes home to sip a melancholy cup of coffee at the kitchen table secure familiar

That Evening

Dinner is over. The dishes are clean and stacked. Quiet descends.
It is time to go to bed. Dad oversees the routine.
The girl hasn't said much. Questions only receive one-word answers. Is there too much to think about?
She's washed her face. Her teeth and hair are brushed. She’s wearing her favorite fairy pajamas.
Dad and daughter sit on her bed. He reads three familiar stories. Too soon she will read to herself. School does that.
She quiets, as if at prayer. He turns out the light. It is time to say good-night.
"I dropped my sandwich on the floor. Teacher wouldn't let me eat it. It was too dirty. I was so hungry all afternoon."
"I'm sorry," he offers. He kisses her good-night.
The world out there is tough. Too soon she will learn. School does that, too.