All month long in August, my daughter bounced, twirled, talked, and talked some more. Her eyes sparkled. The smile etched on her sweet face remained stuck even in her sleep. Such abounding joy seemed to know no end. And the reason for this: School.
Yes, you heard me. School. I had never seen anyone so excited about school in my life. She was starting kindergarten, see. We went shopping and picked out her school bag. We laid out the clothes she would wear for her very first day. I set my alarm so I could do this right: lovely breakfast in the morning, the curlers out to curl her hair, her sparkling shoes by the door....
We came early and took pictures outside the school grounds. Her little hand clinging to mine, the smile was still there so I did not worry. The first half hour, the parents were invited to come inside. It was a whirlwind of loud chaotic shuffling, as we tried to cramp ourselves in the busy classroom. There were activities laid out. Handprints, measurements, find the letter of the alphabet written on the paper, test out the toilet and teach your kid how to wash their hands, look for the cubbies, and so on and so forth. By the time we were done, I wiped the beady sweat off my brow and ushered my clunky stroller out the door, waving goodbye to my little girl as I left.
Where was the emotional, teary, "Mommy, stay" moment I heard about on first days? Did I miss it? Am I so kooky this special event was not allowed to me?
The next day, we walked to school. We were early again. There was quiet, with only a few tots scrambling up and down the playground slide. I asked, "Do you see any of your friends anywhere?" She shook her head, her hand clasped tight in mine. I asked again, "Do you want to go in and play?" Another shaking of head no. I said, "Okay, we'll wait for one of them to show up."
It was a Friday, a short day, so the schedule was different. The bell rang and still no sight of her friends anywhere. The parents must have forgotten afternoon kindergarten started early on Fridays. I urged my little silent companion to go on and line up.
She went and came back. "My teacher's not there." A teacher came out. "Go on," I said. She went and came back. "That's not my teacher." She clung to me, a frown marring her beautiful features.
"It's okay, I'll be right here until you go inside." I kissed the top of her head. Finally her teacher came out. "I love you, mommy," she blurted and gave me a hug. Then she ran off before I could say I love you back.
I watched her stand in the line. I watched her as she went through the door. I watched even when I could not see her anymore.
I pushed the stroller, where my little boy sat contentedly, oblivious to the emotions raging inside me. "C'mon, sweetie," I said to him, "let's go home."
I sniffed. I didn't bother wiping the wet streaks on my cheeks. No one would see. The streets were empty.
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