By Robin C. Harris
A new leg of his journey begins. A rite of passage you and Timmy have anticipated with a strange mixture of joy and dread.
Will his hard-earned life skills at age 5 be enough to see him through this, to hold his head up? After all, he learned to tie his shoes. He practiced all summer. The training wheels are off his bike.
Something to brag about.
His clothes are laid out. He chose the T-shirt that says “Mister Awesome to you!” because he thinks this is incredibly funny.
You both fill his backpack. Why do you flinch? These things are for kindergarten, not deployment. His pencils, erasers and glue sticks. And he’ll be home by 2:15 p.m.
His backpack is ready, sitting by his door, where he set it lovingly last night. Camo, picked from the array of backpacks at K-Mart, because Jake’s backpack is camo. Jake, his best friend.
But Jake’s going to a different school. Will Timmy enter a room full of strangers? Who will be his friend now? Should have scoped this out, engineered a couple of new friendships ahead of time. Too late now.
Will he eat all his lunch? You have the menu. Mac and cheese, carrot sticks. Yeah, he can get through that.
Then it hits you.
Binky.
What if he wants to take Binky? He’s slept with Binky most of his life. What if there’s a no-Binky rule. What if his teacher makes him put Binky in his cubby? Should have asked. Too late now.
You wake him. “Timmy, it’s the big day!”
You’ll take him to school. Just this one time. He wanted to ride the big bus. But that’s too abrupt a transition. You imagine a tear-streaked face pressed against the glass as the big diesel carries him away. No, you’ll walk into class with him .
Will he cry? Will you?
Chances are, he won’t. The tears will more likely be your own. But you’ll hide them until you get to the car. Meanwhile, you’ll smile — a lot.
You’ll go to school a little early so he has a chance to chat up his teacher before the rest of the kids arrive. And arrive they do. Most are chattering happily. A few look a little weepy. (A couple of moms do, too.)
“Don’t hug me, Mom.”
As soon as the excitement subsides, and he looks over at you, you sense that he is nodding his approval as if to say, “It’s OK Mom, you can go.”
* * *
The day is over. You see him hug his teacher goodbye before he bursts from the classroom. “Mom, it was so fun!” His radiant face. What did you fear?
You sent a little boy to kindergarten this morning. Tonight he is so much more a boy. And now, already you glimpse the man.
Robin C. Harris, an 18-year resident of Lake County, is the author of “Journeys out of Darkness, Adventures in Foster Care.” A retired educator, he is a substitute teacher for Lake County schools and has recently completed two works of fiction for children and teens. He is available for tutoring in first through eighth grades. Harris can be contacted at harris.tke@att.net.
