Looking Backward, Looking Forward

Yesterday was Gryffin’s Kindergarten Open House.  We went to his school, got his class assignment and then walked down what has to be the longest hallway in the world  to his room.   He walked between me and Jason, holding our hands.  I kept trying to catch Jason’s eye over Gryffin’s head but he stared resolutely ahead.   They both seemed anxious.

Earlier this week we had gone to a “kindergarten play date” for incoming kindergarteners at the school and it was… well, it was kinda bad, y’all.

There was a row of maybe 10-12 adults standing in the shade when we pulled up, kids running back and forth to the play structure.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Approaching the row of parents I looked around for the person in charge.  Who was running this shindig?  Was somebody making introductions, making connections, getting folks settled?  I saw a large cooler near one mom.  Were there drinks inside?  Popsicles, maybe?

But nobody said hello.  Not one person.  Nobody even made eye contact.  They all just kept talking with one another while we stood there.  I looked around, trying to make eye contact with someone, anyone, looking to find a way to break into a conversation but no dice.  Finally I said to the boys,

“Well… you want to go play?”

Gryffin, ever timid in new situations, asked if I would come over to the play structure with him.

So the three of us walked over to the playground together.  I was the only parent in the raised bed of bark but no big deal.  I figured I’d get them settled and then bravely walk my poor introverted heart back to the group of adults who were apparently hellbent on recreating my Junior High lunch period from 1991.

Just when I thought they were ready to venture out to play, though, a kid with a mohawk – an actual mohawk, not a faux hawk – ran over next to Isaiah and said,

“Move!  I want to jump there!  You’re in my way!”

And of course, that was that.

Isaiah jumped swiftly aside and announced that he wanted to go home.

“Me, too,” said Gryff.

“Swell,” I said.

I walked them back over to the row of parents, determined to make some sort of inroad, but I just couldn’t do it.  I didn’t have the energy to force my way into a conversation with both boys hanging on me.  I suddenly felt exhausted.   I suggested, instead, that we walk over to the main building and check things out.  I figured I could work on my nerve while we took a little walk and then maybe we’d come back and try again.  But Gryffin begged me to take him home and by the time we pulled up at the house, he was in tears.

We had built up to that playdate for so long.  Gryffin had been so eager to check out his new school and meet some of his “new friends.”  I couldn’t help but feel like I had failed him somehow.

So when the Open House rolled around later in the week, we were feeling fiercely protective of him.    We wanted so much for him to walk away from that Open House excited about his classroom and his teacher and ready for this new world awaiting him.  And I’m happy to report that he did.  He met his teacher, explored his classroom at length and came home keen for the first day.  Mission accomplished.

But by bedtime last night, I was in tears.  I know, I know, I know.  Countless parents have walked this road before me and lived to tell the tale.  He’ll be fine.  He’s going to love it.  He’s ready.  How sad we would be if he weren’t able to go to school and blah blah blah.  I know.  

But still.  The anticipation of a thing is always harder than the thing itself.  And right now I’m anticipating Gryffin being gone for over 6 hours every day.  I’m anticipating him walking down that endless hallway.  I’m anticipating mohawk kid.  I’m anticipating my tiny boy with a huge backpack trying to fit in, trying to make friends, looking around the lunch room for somewhere to sit (lord have mercy), and figuring out part of who he is in the world without us.

Mostly though?

Mostly, I’m going to miss him.

I’m going to miss my boy.  Because ultimately, I don’t know what lies ahead.  I don’t know what this new chapter of our lives is going to look like.  Not yet.  All I know is what’s behind me.  And it was pretty grand.