Cutting Strings

I’m dealing with a new-found sadness lately. It has to do with the Little One, and with cutting strings.

Strings in this case is the physical location where I release my immediate parental control over her, and leave her to her own maturing decisions and the protection of another authority. In this case, the school.

For 182 times last year I walked her from my front door to the door going in to her kindergarten class. I stayed with her, rain or shine, until that door opened and she and her friends marched in to class. Now, it’s different.

We’re lucky to have her attend a very, very good public school. That’s not an oxymoron. The principal really knows his stuff. He’s dedicated to the children, to their education and their safety. He stresses this every time he comes in front of us parents. He has demonstrated this commitment often in his actions over the past year.

Two weeks ago I dropped Little One off in front of her first grade class room. The children line up and wait for the door to open, just like in kindergarten. But the principal came strolling up behind all us parents and said, “Beat it!” With a smile he assured us that the kids would be alright, and that after the next day, we were to drop them off and immediately leave.

Part of his job is training parents, too.

So the next week I walked Little One to the door, kissed her, turned around, waved, and walked away. That’s when the sadness began.

I think she may have been nervous that first time. For maybe about a minute. Then, she started asserting herself.

Beginning the past Monday, every day we part farther and farther away from that first grade door. Our normal walk to school is three blocks, then to a crossing guard, then fifty yards up the street, then a turn onto the school yard and a hundred yard walk to her door.

Monday I said goodbye just before that final turn. She waved, gripped her backpack straps, and bopped out of sight, never turning her head to me. Tuesday was the same.

Wednesday, we hugged and slapped five immediately after the crossing guard brought us across the busy intersection. Yesterday, I let her go right before reaching the crossing guard.

But that’s as far back as I’ll go.

At least until … fifth grade.