Last week, I read a new-to-me blog: “Leaves for Trees” by Heather Khun Roelker. In her post for August 21, 2012, she wrote about how she felt when her son recently started kindergarten. She said, “I would no longer ‘know’ my son" in .
Her story brought back such vivid memories of how I felt when my son Nicholas started kindergarten that it inspired me to compose something along those lines for my blog.
It’s been 15 years since my son started kindergarten, but I still remember the feelings I experienced in September of 1997. As an only child, Nicholas was the center of my world. We loved being together: we went on little walks and expeditions around our neighbourhood; we read books; made simple crafts; visited friends and family; played on the swings and slides at the park. I enjoyed planning activities for him and for us, and, I knew everything that happened during his day.
When the time came for Nicholas to start kindergarten, I was thrilled for him and hoped that he would love school as much as I did. But, I was also hesitant about letting him go because I worried that I would no longer know everything he would experience on a daily basis. I worried (probably like most other moms out there) how he would manage without me: what if he fell during recess and I wasn’t there to make things better for him; what if he laughed at someone’s joke and I wasn’t there to hear his cute “little kid laugh”; what if he grasped a concept during class time and I wasn’t there to see the amazement in his eyes?
As it turned out, the reality wasn’t as bad or as traumatic as I had imagined it would be. Even though Nicholas and I were apart for two hours while he was at school, I could still enjoy a little chat with him as I walked him to school; I could look forward to hearing how his morning went when I picked him up at the end of class; I could see his pride when showing me what he drew or painted that day; and most of all, I could tell that our being apart for a little while every day did not stop my son from being my dear little boy.