It was 1988. Our daughter had just started kindergarten. New to the school, my husband and I waited nervously outside the teacher’s door.
Our turn came. I remember sitting in a little chair that night of teacher conferences, unable to get my knees under the desk. Suspecting that our bright, opinionated child might be disrupting class, I said something vague, something like, “I hope she’s not talking too much.”
I’ve never forgotten the teacher’s diplomatic answer: “She has qualities you’ll admire in an adult.”
She is an adult – that was quick. And yes, still chatty and opinionated, she has grown into an admirable young woman.
It is 2004. My son has just started kindergarten, same school, different teacher. Monday morning, I snapped most of a disposable camera’s worth of pictures of my new kindergartner, a bouncy guy with a brand-new haircut.
My older son, a wry and funny fellow who begged off when presented with the chance to get a haircut, last week started his senior year in high school – that was quick.
Does this read like deja vu all over again? Try living it. One of my co-workers, when she’s not keen on something, will sometimes say, “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt.”
If you hear me talking that way when it comes to doing school all over again, send me straight to the principal’s office, OK?
The little desks and chairs may look the same to me, but for my last child – and for each one walking into school for the first time – everything is fresh and every door is wide open.
Having sent one all the way through school, I know what a tremendous trip it can be. My little boy is just beginning to write.
I have no idea yet where his true talents lie, but each day he’ll build on what he learned the day before. By the time he reaches my daughter’s age, he’ll have made an incredible leap – and I will have seen it.
What an adventure we’ll have as he makes his way through kindergarten, then first grade, and on and on. What friends he’ll make. What science fair projects we’ll toil over (despite the temptation to use the ones already done and long forgotten in our basement).
Parents can encourage kids and expose them to opportunities – music or sports, technology, art or dance. But it’s folly to think we can completely control what happens.
My daughter, soon to graduate from college, is brilliant but she can barely draw a stick figure. My son hears a song once and can play it perfectly on his guitar. He takes an ordinary video camera and makes movies of his brother’s toy Gumby walking across our dining room table, smooth and lifelike as can be.
The kids are my genetic heirs. Yet their very different skills and talents are mysteries to me.
Been there, done that? I don’t think so. Child No. 3 is no carbon copy of the first two. He’s unique; they all are.
Yes, I have to do it again. I’m starting kindergarten – at 50.
There are people who don’t envy me that. But how often have you heard a mother or father say, “If I had the chance to do it again …”? Well, I have that chance.
I’m planning to do a few things differently this time. No TV on school nights, for one.
And I’ll hire a math tutor at the first sign of trouble. There’s no joy in standing by helplessly as your tired kid sheds tears over math homework. Some teachers can’t teach it, and some kids need a different way to learn it. But that’s years away.
There will be times I’ll need reminding that I’m lucky to again be on the incredible journey called K-12.
The day will come (tell me it will) when it’s 2017, graduation day. Let’s see, 1988 to 2017, that much math even I can do. It’s 29 years – 29 years of making school lunches.
At 180 days of school per year, that’s 2,160 school days for each of my children, first through 12th grade (they don’t need a lunch in kindergarten). And 2,160 times three kids? That’s 6,480 sack lunches, give or take the occasional hot lunch or half-day.
Stop me now, before I forget how lucky I am.
Columnist Julie Muhlstein: 425-339-3460 or muhlsteinjulie@heraldnet.com.
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