Monday will be the first day of Kindergarten.
It's true that Little One has been going to school for three years now, but this will be
public school.
All day school. With
hundreds of kids. With
lunch time. It's a whole new thing.
Tonight Little One and I walked through the drizzling evening to attend the "back to school" info session. It was mostly hum drum, mission statements and conduct codes and pick-up schedules and such. It was late (and boring) and Little One leaned on my shoulder, lacing Her arm through mine.
When the teacher got to the part about lunches and snacks, I perked her up to listen.
Hearing the talk about how all the kids get milk, about the class eating breakfast each morning in the classroom, class-provided snacks (the ubiquitous goldfish crackers being the example), the various options for lunches on long tables in the cafeteria, caused knots to form in my stomach, slowly tightening with each paragraph.
One parent in the back asked,
"is this a nut-free school?"
"No, no it isn't" answered the teacher.
At that, she got the biggest reaction from her listeners she'd had all night.
"YES!!" exclaimed several parents in the crowd, one pumping his fist in the air.
"Awesome!" "great!" "Oh that makes everything easier!"
Everything easier? Really?
Now, I am actually not an advocate for nut-free schools. There are nuts in the world, and kids like mine have to learn to navigate that fact. I also understand the fairness issue with asking many to be inconvenienced for the sake of one.
But it is, after all, the sake of one
life.
How can I explain this to someone who doesn't live with life-threatening food allergies? Imagine the teacher saying that all the children would be allowed to carry loaded handguns, and all the parents going,
"Yes! I'm sending mine with a semi-automatic!" Only worse. Because if kindergarteners did carry guns, at least they might have been told to be careful with them. At least the teachers would know they were dangerous and would instinctively supervise to some degree.
But for
my kid, the peanut butter sandwich and the cups of milk are just as dangerous. And no one handles pizza with caution. Meaning that the burden of staying safe in an actual minefield of danger, all day long, will fall on the shoulders of a five-year-old.
Hearing all those parents exalt over getting to send nuts into the place my Little One will be spending the majority of Her time, watching Her innocent little eyes get big and round, feeling the delicacy of Her hand pressed into mine... I felt a wave of real terror.
I put my arm around Her shoulders as if I were sheltering Her from an attack; for a moment I thought I was going to be sick. I can honestly not remember the last time I felt so afraid. And that's me.
How must She feel?
I squeezed Her hand and the talk moved on to folders and homework. Afterwards She thanked the teacher and we started for home. By now it was late, late enough to be dark out. To get home, we take the short-cut around the back of the school, behind the baseball field and down a little path through a wooded area. But we've never walked it at night.
As we turned the corner of the school, the back was unlit, littered with broken chairs, flat basketballs, and overflowing dumpsters. The thought was just flashing through my mind, that this was pretty sketchy looking and I was a bit uneasy about it, when Little One stopped short and grabbed my hand.
"Um, no way Mom. No way we should go through here, it's too dark! I'm scared. This looks like a place where Bad Guys come out from."
I looked again. It did look like a scene that might be accompanied by creepy music.
But it was the way home.
"Little One, it's ok. This is our own, safe neighborhood. I have a flashlight, and we know the way. We are tough and brave, and I am right here. We're just going to keep going."
She looked a bit doubtful.
"If a bad guy jumps out, I will whack him with this umbrella. I'm not afraid of anything. Let's go!"
She held my hand tight, and we walked.
Even though what I said was true, that it was a short familiar walk in our own, safe neighborhood, if I'd been by myself, I might have run through the dark part, or gone the much longer way through the lit streets. But sometimes when you're mom, you don't have the luxury of being scared. You have to be rational, you have to be brave. Because it's one thing to teach my child to be cautious, and another to make Her afraid of the dark, of Her own shadow.
So I walked with confidence; I smiled and pointed out the lovely song of the crickets, the beautiful pattern of the moon through the leaves. I kept a careful watch and I held onto Her hand- but we walked right into the dark and kept walking until we were home.
I wish I could walk Her like that through life. I wish I could hold Her hand in every darkness.
Kindergarten and school and the wide frightening world are right around the corner. They are shadowy with Unknowns and there are dangers to navigate. I would give anything to make every back alley and lunch room safe and sunny for Her! But I can't, and there's no way around it.
Still, even if I can't always be there with Her, I will always be there for Her.
All we can do is hope things aren't so dangerous as they seem, to navigate as smartly as we know how, to walk into the darkness and keep walking. And be brave.
