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Mother's hopes and dreams accompany child
on his first day of school.
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Dementia care
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Luke Rcl, South of Lone
Bittersweet
Send-Off
oon, I will fill a Thomas the
Tank Engine backpack with an
extra pair of Shrek underpants,
an extra outfit and a homemade snack
to send my 3-year-old son, my eldest,
to school for the first time. He'll sling
the bag over his little shoulders and
saunter off into the building to greet
his teacher and make new friends and,
really, begin the process of leaving the
safe embrace of my arms.
I'll probably accompany him into
the building and down the hall, with
the primary color-filled bulletin
boards and the bright library with
rows of books that he can't wait to
pull down and the music room where
he'll learn to identify sharps and flats
and sing more than just "Puff the
Magic Dragon" from the backseat of
the car.
I'll help him hang his backpack on a
peg with his name above it, give him a
kiss and a hug and watch him walk
into the classroom and settle on the
train table or the art supplies or the
story corner and not look back as I
retreat- to my car.
Asher is starting school and, with it,
my family is changing forever. A child
comes into the world a little innocent
bundle with basic needs — cry for a
feeding, diaper change or to be held.
It's easy to provide answers at that
stage, despite dealing with sleep depri-
vation. As so many of my mentors say,
"Little children, little problems; big
children, big problems."
And then they grow and you wel-
come their advances — first it's hold-
ing up their heads, then it's sitting up,
lunging for toys, teeth breaking
through. Finally, they're standing,
cruising around the furniture, cruising
across the room, parallel playing with
other children while you chat with the
moms (a much-needed connection
with another adult because your days
have been filled with all things baby
for seemingly so long).
And then they're potty training,
dialing the numbers to grandma's
house themselves and identifying the
letters of the alphabet. Understanding
TV shows. Saying "NO."
For some parents, it's easy to send
children to school. Though they love
them beyond measure, it's a welcome
break in the day and they can come
back to the people they were before
they gave themselves over to this little
bundle of joy and frustration, this
unpredictable, independent being who
has commanded attention, direction
and your life for years.
For others, it's a bittersweet process.
I am excited for Asher to learn new
things, meet new people, take instruc-
tion from an authority figure other
than me. But I question whether I
have chosen the right school — will it
be a good balance of learning and
play? Will the other families share our
values? Will Asher's classmates intro-
duce him to the world of junk food,
foul language and the cruelty of child-
hood or will they share cut-up fruit,
remember to say "please" and "thank
you" and smile when invited for play
dates?
A mother I know, whose children
became more religious than she is,
credits the schools they attended with
inspiring the change. She is fond of
saying that teachers can impact a child
as much as, or sometimes more than,
a parent. I scoff whenever she says
that, but as my first child is about to
leave the nest for preschool, I wonder
whether she could be right.
But I don't want to lose my child to
someone else's views. Though I know
this first leaving is but the first of
many, I want to believe that my son,
my daughter and any other children
we will have will stay close to us in
spirit and in voice no matter where
they go.
I want to believe that they will hear
our voices in their ears as they make
decisions, choose careers, spouses,
where to live. When they make cook-
ies with their children, I want the cor-