It was the first day of school today, and I offered to get the kids ready for school so that my wife could get into her classroom and prepare for students. I thought this was quite noble of me, and well within my talent set. When the kids were dressed, brushed, and groomed, and ready to eat breakfast at 7:30, I still had a few strands of my vocal chords in place. Success!
I had prepared myself to NOT enter any classrooms for my oldest two children, but I assumed there would be a moment or acknowledgement from them. When I pictured my wife doing this the past four years, I had images of hugs, tears, and tender embraces.
This morning my oldest two sons shunned eye contact and sort of skulked off while my back was turned. There were no tears or hugs. The closest I came to a hug may have been when my middle son brushed against my leg in his rush to escape and may or may not have attempted to deposit a booger on my shorts. I express doubt (not because he isn't fully capable of this maneuver) but because he wasn't successful.
My youngest had a non-traditional first day, which required me to bring him back a few hours later. He played contently while I Skyped and worked furiously to make plans for some eLearning Admin Academy sessions. As the time approached for his day to begin, he began yelling...no...BELLOWING at me to basically get my butt moving. I would have been touched by his enthusiasm if I weren't suddenly concerned that I was being bullied by a three-year-old.
He kicked and cheered the entire ride to school. When we arrived in the parking lot, I unbuckled him, helped him onto the ground, and swiftly closed the door. At some point in this sequence he did not follow the plan and must have turned back towards the car. I know this (not because I witnessed the retreat), but because my brain was seared with the image and sound of the car door thunking off of his head. Thankfully, it was more of a glance not resulting in a goose egg, but it did result in a hug, tears, and an embrace (and he was upset too).
When we approached his classroom door, I saw the mess of parents coddling and coaxing their teary children. There were choruses of, "It'll be okay," and verses of, "I'll be back before you know it." As I stood taking in the moment, my youngest promptly walked through the classroom door. I sprinted after him, but was stopped at the door by the teacher.
"Sorry, the parents are staying outside the room today," I was informed.
"No problem, I just want to wave goodbye to my son because I think he thought I was following behind me, and I don't want him to think I just left him," I replied.
We both stood in the doorway and watched as he hung up his lunchbox, spun in a circle, and walked straight past the door without looking my way. The teacher looked at me with a pitiful face.
"I think he's okay."
I turned back to the mob of writhing children, and did my best to wade through the slippery tears and snot puddling all over the floor.
A mother nearby said, "I think we make a bigger deal about this than they do."
"You have no idea," I replied.
I walked to my car thinking about how proud I am that my kids are confident and independent. It did occur to me that it would be nice to get some neediness at some point, but then again, I was the dad who hit his kids in the head with car doors...
Let's just call it even.
I had prepared myself to NOT enter any classrooms for my oldest two children, but I assumed there would be a moment or acknowledgement from them. When I pictured my wife doing this the past four years, I had images of hugs, tears, and tender embraces.
This morning my oldest two sons shunned eye contact and sort of skulked off while my back was turned. There were no tears or hugs. The closest I came to a hug may have been when my middle son brushed against my leg in his rush to escape and may or may not have attempted to deposit a booger on my shorts. I express doubt (not because he isn't fully capable of this maneuver) but because he wasn't successful.
My youngest had a non-traditional first day, which required me to bring him back a few hours later. He played contently while I Skyped and worked furiously to make plans for some eLearning Admin Academy sessions. As the time approached for his day to begin, he began yelling...no...BELLOWING at me to basically get my butt moving. I would have been touched by his enthusiasm if I weren't suddenly concerned that I was being bullied by a three-year-old.
He kicked and cheered the entire ride to school. When we arrived in the parking lot, I unbuckled him, helped him onto the ground, and swiftly closed the door. At some point in this sequence he did not follow the plan and must have turned back towards the car. I know this (not because I witnessed the retreat), but because my brain was seared with the image and sound of the car door thunking off of his head. Thankfully, it was more of a glance not resulting in a goose egg, but it did result in a hug, tears, and an embrace (and he was upset too).
When we approached his classroom door, I saw the mess of parents coddling and coaxing their teary children. There were choruses of, "It'll be okay," and verses of, "I'll be back before you know it." As I stood taking in the moment, my youngest promptly walked through the classroom door. I sprinted after him, but was stopped at the door by the teacher.
"Sorry, the parents are staying outside the room today," I was informed.
"No problem, I just want to wave goodbye to my son because I think he thought I was following behind me, and I don't want him to think I just left him," I replied.
We both stood in the doorway and watched as he hung up his lunchbox, spun in a circle, and walked straight past the door without looking my way. The teacher looked at me with a pitiful face.
"I think he's okay."
I turned back to the mob of writhing children, and did my best to wade through the slippery tears and snot puddling all over the floor.
A mother nearby said, "I think we make a bigger deal about this than they do.""You have no idea," I replied.
I walked to my car thinking about how proud I am that my kids are confident and independent. It did occur to me that it would be nice to get some neediness at some point, but then again, I was the dad who hit his kids in the head with car doors...
Let's just call it even.
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