Wednesday, May 25, 2011

the end of an era


How was her last day of preschool?

For her, sweet.

There was cake.

And she has no concept of time.

She doesn't understand the sometimes harsh line between the kind, carefree days of private preschool and the more rigid, 7-hour days of kindergarten. She's never been in a classroom with more than ten kids in it. She doesn't even know what homework is.

Don't get me wrong. Next year could be the start of something wonderful.

Or, like my first tour behind the war lines of public school, it could be a psychological disaster.

My job is to keep that from happening.


So here's my pledge to you, big kid:

If you tell me you're being bullied, I'll do something about it.

If you tell me that you're bored in school or your teacher is snide to you because you ask her for more to do, I'll schedule a meeting with her and insist on no less than the attention, respect, and kindness you deserve.

If you wake up with a ball of dread in your stomach because you hate school, even though deep down you love school, we'll explore the options. If we have to home school or private school or change districts-- whatever, we'll do it.

You're worth it.

I want every day of school to be as sweet as your last day of preschool, when you got a gold medal, sang your favorite sunshine song, and ate cake.



stephanie constantin said...

<3 She was so adorable up there! We are going to miss seeing you guys all the time!

*my word verification is 'wambire' that like a wombat vampire?

dk said...

Your awesome mom-ness just brought a tear to my eye. This should be posted on every parent's refrigerator, just so it can be re-read every day.

K A B L O O E Y said...

That's how I felt when the kindergarten bus drove away this past fall -- that she got on willingly, but had no real idea that this would be her LIFE for the next 17 years, unless she quits high school, bags college and comes up some alternative, viable life plan.

urfaqhesse said...

That made me cry.

good cry.

and some sad cry from the memory of that stomach ball of terror.

but mostly good cry.