First Day at School

First of all, let me thank those of you who are actually following this blog, which is still obviously very much in it’s infancy. It is a beginning, and has taken some getting used to. But I have plans to make it much bigger, and incorporate much more writings on various subjects, and to be able to divide it up by topics for easy reference, and all of that good stuff. Unfortunately, doing so will also take time, so all I can ask is that you bear with me through all of this.

Also, apologies about the long delay between messages. You know how the holidays are, right? You suddenly find yourself whizzing through a whirlwind of activities, with all of the shopping for gifts and holiday preparations, then Christmas itself (or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, depending on your beliefs), which quickly finds New Year’s nipping at it’s heel. Time for new beginnings, new chances. New resolutions that most likely won’t last the full week, let alone the year. Sometimes, they don’t even last the first day (I’ve been there, believe me!).

            Anyway, I wanted to add something new, but was not entirely sure what to incorporate into this very small body of work. Having just finished a book on Pat Tillman, “Where Men Win Glory” by Jon Krakauer, I was really excited to begin writing a review of the book, and got to work. Five pages later, to my amazement, was a discourse of all of my suddenly vented political frustrations of the decade staring me in my incredulous face. While this book certainly did not shy away from politics, it seemed somehow inappropriate to use it as a springboard to get on my soapbox and lecture about the evils of the era. So I decided to kick that soapbox out from under my feet, and teach myself a lesson in humility, jumping atop my fallen ego and pointing a finger in his face, laughing, taunting. Perhaps even sneaking a kick to the ribs of this not so much evil as annoyingly self-righteous (and yes, sadly, I will admit to possessing the not altogether rare qualities of hypocrisy) alter ego.

            So I decided to search for something else, instead. And the piece that I am about to submit was actually written a couple of years ago, on the occasion of my son’s first day in school. I was working in Newark at the time, and the building that I worked at had a school in it. Well, it was probably more like a daycare center, but they called themselves a school. And for the purposes of this little piece of writing, I think it gets the point across, anyway. I was interested in learning more, and inquired about the possibility of registering Sebastien, my son, in the program. There was only one spot open, and so I jumped on it, feeling quite proud of myself (although looking back, I scratch my head and wonder exactly why).

Some of you reading this might already have read it the first time around, when it was actually written. If so, I am sorry for repeating myself. Let me say this another way: my sincerest and most profound apologies for exposing you to the same material. Just in case I was unclear, I wish to express my regrets for forcing this upon you yet again. As you can see, it vexes me to repeat myself. In other words….

            Okay, enough of that. Gotcha.

Anyway, it was, and remains, one of the few works that I actually shared with people at the time, and almost everybody who read it told me that they found it moving. One woman even claimed that she almost cried which, in turn, almost made me cry (not really….well….maybe).

            It must be said, that I was kind of shocked to see just how brief this thing was, as well. For whatever the reason, it had seemed a lot longer at the time. I kept searching for the other parts to this, wondering where they could have gone to, until I actually read it, and realized that, indeed, it was the piece that I wrote two years ago, in full. It just was not nearly as long as my apparently faulty memory had believe it to be.

Also, I resisted the urge to do some editing or alterations, because this was written when it was still very fresh, and thus emotionally charged. So it seems important not to alter that, lest these efforts wind up taking away from the potential emotional punch that I hope it actually possesses. You be the judge:

            Thursday, December 11, 2008

My son's first day at school today.

Well, I didn't cry, but felt emotional. Just seeing him there, alone, a tiny little person, almost defenseless and, up until this point, almost entirely reliant upon his parents and grandparents for his world knowledge and experience, and the enormity and reality that it largely began to end today. Each little step, he's more on his own.

Otherwise, he did cry quite a bit. Not initially, because he was so distracted with the incredible toys that were all over the place. Plus, mommy came and stayed with him for that first hour and change, wanting to make sure that he was okay. But about an hour and change later, during lunch time, he was apparently refusing to eat. Since I worked in the same building, I was called down. When I entered, he grew quiet and shrunk in a corner. I sat next to him and put my arm around him. Slowly but surely, the tears came down, until he was really bawling. And it was heartbreaking, even if I’m a guy. I held him, wanting to let it out of him, but he just did not stop. I had to go back to work, break time over, and there he was, trying to hold onto me, trying to hold his grasp of the reality that he had known up until that point, which was now being ripped away from him, at least in part. It’s only natural to resist the beginning to the end of pampering and unending, unquestioned comfort. I think that they sense this, but are young and naïve enough to resist

And the parents also have to begin to learn to let go. Neither side really wants to let it go, but both realize on some level that it is not a decision that is in their hands. You can’t stop the hands of a clock and pretend that you’ve succeeded in making time stand still. It’s time for letting go.