I remember my first day of Kindergarten. Mom had to carry me into the classroom, and I didn't want her to leave. I probably cried. I remember she only convinced me to stay because Maggie Sullivan was also there, so I knew at least one person.
That's what I was thinking of when I was holding Damien, while all the students lined up for morning prayers. He wouldn't let me put him down. He was only OK with me putting him down because he has a little friend—a boy from one of the Latin Mass families is also in his class.
It's hard to let your firstborn go. I assume it'll be like this all the way up to college. It's also hard to trust anyone with him. But his Kindergarten teacher is a mom from St. Michael's homeschool group, whom we knew way back in the day. We've known our pastor since he was a seminarian. And the school rector used to work closely with mom at Sts. Peter and Paul. I'm still not sure they're worthy of caring for my little boy five days of the week, but this is as close as we'll ever fine.
Oh, plus his school has Mass for the students once a week, and Benediction and Adoration every Friday. Damien told us that the teacher's aide (the lower grades all have two teachers per class!) "took him to keep Jesus company." Which means I will work to the day I die to be able to afford this school, if for no other reason than the spirituality. I may not be able to go to daily Mass and weekly adoration anymore, but maybe he can pray for me instead.
He's had trouble the first couple weeks. All the fears I had about whether or not he was mature enough for school were not completely unfounded. He's only barely five—the second youngest in his class, his Latin Mass friend being six days younger (July 31st was the cut-off date for birthdays to get into Kindergarten). The usual stuff: he doesn't follow directions well (surprise!), he cries sometimes in unfamiliar circumstances, he takes forever in the bathroom (and plays instead of using the potty). In otherwords, he's just Damien.
We managed to cure him of the excitement of school by the second day. Monday, he woke up, excited. "I get to go to school‽" Tuesday, was a different story. "No, I already did that." Yep, and you get to do it for thirteen more years, kid.
But every day, when I pick him up, it's the same thing. "Did you have fun at school today?" "Yeah!" followed by ramblings of all the things he did. It's sometimes hard to figure out what a five year old's been up to all day, just from his description of events. Things like, he didn't get gummy bears but the other boys and girls did, he played on the park, he wrote his name. He always comes home with dirty knees and sand in his shoes, so he must be having some fun. For someone who's always known exactly where his child is and what he's doing, this is perhaps the hardest part. Simply not knowing what he's doing all day.
But I guess we have to let go and say goodbye sometime. Even if it's only for a few hours a day.
