A lot of people I know have little ones going into Kindergarten soon. I remember this day as clear as can be. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that I remember it because it's a sweet memory of my child. Pshaw! I remember it because I now have post traumatic stress from it. Someone should have warned me I should have taken anti-anxiety medicine that day.
Up until that day my son was with me almost all the time. I knew his likes and dislikes. I knew his quirks. I knew his fears and his loves. Then BAM! There I am handing him off to a teacher who knows so little about him. Not to mention the million other kids in his class that had to fight for attention, who probably had very poor manners, head lice, wanted to harm my child, wanted to educate my baby on things he was still clueless about, who in no way, shape, or form were as good as my child.That day was traumatic all right. I was sure he wouldn't be able to make it through the day without me by him. I was certain he was going to come home crying and tell me he never wanted to go back.
That little heathen barely missed me.
I realized this as soon as I picked him up. He didn't run to me with open arms like I was saving him from certain death. He didn't beg me to take him home.. far far away from that terrible place. In fact, I think his words were, "mama, do I have to go?"
Yeah yeah yeah I should have been happy that he was such a well adjusted child. I should have been overjoyed that he loved his first experience at school so much that he was excited to go back. I know all this, and I was.... but there was a small part of me that wanted to cuff some sense into him so he would remember that no one was as good as me and he could at least have the decency to lie and make me feel like he couldn't live without me another school day.
The years have flown and now my baby is a young man.
And I'm still pissed at him for not falling apart that day.
The audacity of that five year old.
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