The night before the first day of school has always been stressful for me. Even as a child, I was torn between watching the network premieres of primetime shows (those that came on before 9:00, anyway) and going to bed straight after dinner to get as much sleep as possible. I obsessed over every notebook and pencil, and laid out my new clothes like little flat people on the foot of my bed. I wanted everything to be perfect.
Not much has changed in thirty or so years.
Last night, I arranged and re-arranged all of the gear required by my elementary scholars. I sat them down, one at a time, and ran through the inventory with them, so they knew how much of the stuff on the supply list I’d gathered. We went over the bus rules (keep your hands inside; stay in your seat; no fooling around; obey the driver; cross in front of the bus). The babysitter would be meeting them at their bus stops up the street, not picking up from school, a change this year that Doodle and Scooby were both very excited about. I tucked the bus notices in their backpacks and made their lunches.
Then I got to nagging Boy about putting his clothes out for the morning. His movements are glacial once you can cajole him out of the bed, and for reasons unknown to me, high school starts at 7:20 AM. (That’s counterintuitive to me. The little kids bounce out of bed at the crack of dawn; they should go to school earlier than the teenager, who only achieves full consciousness sometime after noon.) I didn’t even want to contemplate being late on The First Day of High School – or getting pulled over by a cop as I sped up the Parkway. We were all buzzing; Doodle especially was channeling his inner Tigger, literally running around in circles. I thought we’d all be up, vibrating, the whole night.
We all slept like rocks. Five-thirty came early.
Having no confidence in first day’s chaotic bus schedule, I drove Boy to school. He chattered all the way there (even as I tried to concentrate through the downpour), betraying his anxiety. I said, “So, I’ll be praying for you all day.” I expected him to roll his eyes at my motherly concern. Instead, he said quietly, “Can you start right now?”
I read somewhere, a long time ago, that having a child is like walking around for the rest of your life with your heart outside your body. You bet I prayed as I watched my six-foot-one heart climb the stairs into high school.
It didn’t go as planned. While the little kids spent their day meeting new friends, learning how to spell their new teachers’ names, and riding the school buses, Boy spent his outside the principal’s office (his class assignment schedule was blank), and waiting two hours for the bus that would bring him home. Disappointed and tired, he skipped dinner and went to bed at 7:00 PM.
All of the planning, shopping, list-making, and imagining could not make this First Day Of High School go well for Boy. That makes me sad. But tomorrow, we’ll get up with the sun, do our usual tug of war over whether he’s really going to wear that shirt or whether or not he’ll eat some breakfast, and we’ll try again. I will give him the “clean slate” pep talk, reassure him that today is the first day of the rest of his life, and send him prayerfully off again.
Maybe tomorrow he’ll have the First Day Of School experience that his brother and sister had today, full of possibilities and newness and excitement. I hope so.
We’ll keep trying until we get it right.
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