My daughter is off to middle school, and this boy is starting Kindergarten. It's surreal to think we're actually here. I'm excited, and also slightly nervous. We filled our days with each other for so long. We were each others sources of joy and comfort. Over 5 years of just hanging out with this kid 24/7, I reached the pinnacle of my dinosaur knowledge.
And so now what? He's just off without me for 6 hours a day? What if kids are mean to him? What if he wants to march to the beat of his own drum? What if his teacher doesn't get how he sees the world? Sigh. These are my issues to deal with, I suppose.
As much as I don't like to admit it, I know this kid is good to go. He's securely attached. He's attuned and connected. He's ready to join the other little soldiers in the public education system. He's always been highly adaptable to new situations. I mean, not many kids can say that they started working their first job before they started elementary school. Truth be told, he's more prepared for this than I am. He's smarter than I am. He's already multiplying big numbers, converting minutes to seconds, and calculating square roots. Genius level stuff that low key has me worried that if he's lacking mental stimulation he's gonna fully morph into Dennis the Menace. He's talking about the soul, and asking questions that invoke one existential crisis inside me after another. Just this morning, as I was still wiping the sleep from my eyes to greet the day, he asked, "how did we get from 'back in the day' to the present?"
And let me tell you, trying to explain this to a five-year-old made me sad because what we call progress isn't always this beautiful thing, you know? He stated rather matter-of-factly that he wouldn't want to be an inventor, because he'd "have to invent too many things" for the world to keep progressing at its current level. And he's right. We always want more. And that just solidified my melancholy. These aren't 5-year-old worries. My conscious awareness of everything is rubbing off on him.
But I know that when it comes to learning and socializing at school, he's going to do just fine. As he likes to assure me, he's "got this".
But on days he doesn't, or when what he's being fed as fact doesn't fit with whatever his inner truth is, I just hope he remembers his way home. Both to us, and to himself. I hope he tries on many hats but doesn't lose himself amid all the garish costume changes and carefully delivered performances.
No matter what, I'll always be there waiting in the wings. Even though my kisses now give him "dirty germs", I hope he knows I'm always going to be his safe place to land.
Now, just like Peter Pan, think happy thoughts...and fly, baby, fly.
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