My daughter started her Kindergarten this Fall.
Kindergarten. The first day was the hardest, I think. A few other moms of
Kindergartners, and I found solace in each other’s tears… “Our babies are
growing up so fast” was the general consensus.
“Doesn’t it feel like yesterday, when they were so tiny and
helpless?” one mom, Lisa* said.
“Well, mine was pretty helpless today. He was trying to put his jacket on, over his bag!” another
mom, Marie* disagreed. “He was pretty helpless with the shoelaces, and also,
the buttons.”
“Yeah, mine still cries all the time.” Jenna wiped her tear.
“So then, why are we
crying?” I asked. “It just seems like an illusion that they’re growing up. They
just seem to get taller holding on to all their kiddie traits. Mine, doesn’t
like walking to any place that’s not a playground. She’ll pretend she’s so
tired, that she cannot walk another step and desperately needs to be picked up.”
“But still, school is big.” Lisa said, still trying to prove
her point.
“Not Kindergarten” I said. “They still only mostly color and
trace numbers and letters.”
“Listen to stories, play at the park, dance” Marie agreed.
“So why are we
crying?” Jenna asked out loud.
“Could these be tears of happiness?” Marie seemed
enlightened. “Are we happy that our kids are finally away from home, without
costing a bomb for… staying away?” She was clearly referring to expensive
pre-school and day care.
All of us looked at each other. That could very well have
been the reason.
“Or are we just feeling liberated, that we can finally read
a book without disturbance, or use the toilet without the fear of the little
kid barging in any minute or communicating from across the door?” Jenna tried.
“Oh, mine asks me so many questions from outside, and she
wants me to see her paintings, right that minute!” Marie empathized.
“Let’s see what they have to say in the evening, when they
come back from school” I said, already knowing what my daughter would say. She
wouldn’t want to come home. There were so many kids at school. At home, I was
the only other kid, and I wasn’t very good at being one. I didn’t whine loud
enough and I couldn’t ride her little bike with training wheels.
We bid our good-byes and met again at pick-up.
“Feel liberated yet?” I asked the ladies.
“I cried a little in the car” Jenna said. “But once I
reached home and saw the mess in her room, I was back to being the screamer.
Only, it felt a little sad that I didn’t know who to aim it at.”
“I could actually hear my kitchen cloth fall on the floor.”
Lisa was thrilled. All the tears from the morning seemed to have disappeared
with the onset of reality.
“I wrote.” I said. “It felt so good, not having to share my
laptop with anybody, because they also wanted to write a letter to their mom,
me, at that very instant. I forgot how blissful it was to be in your own
company.”
“Here comes the class!” Marie pointed out excitedly.
The kids looked so adorable, walking in a line, holding
hands. With backpacks and lunch bags, the kids looked like… big kids. My
daughter was talking to a new friend, oblivious to my presence. She was so
engrossed in the animated discussion.
“Is that another tear, Mom from India*?” Lisa asked.
“Yeah” I said. “I love her to bits and she looks so
happy. And also, I was so engrossed in
work today, I forgot something basic. I badly need to go to the toilet now, and
she won’t let me.”
*All names of moms changed to preserve their identity and
protect them from any awkward discussions this may lead to when the kids are
able to search the internet.
