One of the special people

You know that story about the poor kid who gets left behind at school because their parent didn't show up to get them? (Oh, how I wish I didn't have to verify what you are now certainly anticipating.) I am guilty. Stories like this: Women walks out in public with her skirt tucked into her underwear, or; At a very pivotal life-moment, girl trips and falls on her face, or; On her daughters first day of school, frazzled parent fails to pick child up. Those stories always seem to be about me. I believe that people like me are special. We are built differently by God. In His mercy, He looks upon our fuzzy minds, and takes care to give us an extra measure of resilience-- an extraordinary ability to recover from our endless embrassmments. He gives us the gift of self-directed laughter.

This morning, my first child, my only girl, went to her first day of Junior Kindergarden. She insisted on a pink skirt. I insisted on a ponytail. A ridiculously large knapsack was placed on her little back, and with two other kids in tow, at 8:00 a.m. I made the first of countless trecks to Elgin Street Public.

For weeks I have been predicting how this day would unfold. My daughter is a boldly independent child. I assumed she would take one look at the yard full of shrieking children and feel like a queen bee in a busy hive. As it turns out, I know my daughter well. She immediately shed her burdensome pack, and headed straight for the "big kids" structure where I actually witnessed her stare down a 10-year old who was trying to beat her up the ladder. That'a girl.

"You can go now mom," she said. While I was relieved not to have to part with a tearfully resistant child, my heart began to ache a little when she said that. I thought; If she doesn't need me now, when will she need me?

The bell rang, and the jittering queue of post-toddlerhood disappeared into a warm and colourful classroom. I didn't cry. I wouldn't. I refused. But the ache in me persisted until I completely disengaged my mind from the reality of the situation. I took my two boys to a park nearby and remained disengaged. Which probably accounts for the embarassing situation I later found myself in. At 11:30, the time at which I had written down as pick-up time in my agenda, I did not join a group of eager parents in the schoolyard. Instead, with a quickening pace, I sped through a deserted school year, my stomach dropping, to find my little girl sitting alone at a desk in the principles office colouring. I was 30 minutes late.

If I had struggled against tears before, this time I had to wage war on my tear ducts. I had made my girl wait alone in the office while all the other kids got picked up by their parents. You hear about parents like that-- you shake your head at parents like that . . .

I studied her very closely for the rest of the afternoon to see if I had caused her any psycological damage. As of yet, I have been unable to see any signs of trauma. In fact, she seems to remained completely unaware that anything was ever amiss. She might tomorrow, when she is NOT escorted to a desk in the office. But, I am optimistic the entire episode, while temporarily painful to me, will be a source of laughter for her someday.

Notes on the day: I found a note in her backpack. It read:

She seems to be a very confident little girl,
I look forward to getting to know her this year. Mrs. B.W.

And when asked how her day went, Caelah happily reported: "I was being too loud. I kept talking when I was supposed to be quiet." Thus reads the opening chapter of my daughter's journey through the education system. God, equip me.