Getting preSchooled

I have two daughters. They are both about 6 months old. Last week, Lizzie turned 3 years and Charlotte turned 9 months old. I recently took my oldest to her first day of preschool. I narrowly escaped a heart attack. Whenever I came close to fainting, Kimmy popped open a scented marker and put it under my nose.

Preschool. I never thought I would set foot in one again. My preschool experience was… well, we’ll just say it was different. We walked Lizzie to the door, kicking, crying, and screaming the entire way. There was a meltdown on the grass involving a firm affirmation that she would not be going to school that day. After about ten minutes, Lizzie let go of her mom’s hand and came back for me. Dragged me off the lawn and said, “It’s okay Daddy. I’m only going at preschool for a little while. You can pick me up after and can go at the park for play time.” She then proceeded to kiss me on the cheek. I brushed the tears from my eyes and got up off the grass. When we got back to Mom, she rolled her eyes and shot a stern look at me which said, “Get yourself together. We’re in public.”

We each grabbed one of Lizzie’s hands and went to wait in line for the door to open.

As I sat in line waiting for the beginning of the end, I contemplated all of the other lines I’d wait in for Lizzie. A line for kindergarten graduation. A line for the “you must be at least this tall” rides at six flags. The line to get into her first concert, for a band that she wats to see. A line to get her first cellphone. A line at the DMV to get her learner’s permit. Kimmy would wait in line to buy her prom dress. I’d wait in line to buy a few boxes of ammunition to stack around the gun I’d be cleaning on my kitchen table when her date arrives.

It was as I was picturing the line to get into her future display at an art gallery, when Mrs. B opened the door to the preschool. The line started moving forward. When we entered the preschool, the unique bouquet of the room took me back to the previous week, the day we signed her up.

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Kimmy got me out of bed. “Kam! Time to get to school!”

“Whuuh?” My brain was still in logging mode, as I tried to get it to drop the saw and awaken, Kimmy kept talking. “Get UP! We need to get to school by 9:00. Sign up is early.”

OH! School! “One minute! I need to get my backpack.” I Shot out of bed, looking for my workbag. I think she knew what was going on, but she didn’t bother to interrupt me for a good 30 seconds or so. “I need socks!”

“Kam…”

“What?”

“Lizzie. Lizzie’s preschool signup is this morning. At 9:00 AM. You need to take a shower and get ready for work so we can make it to registration.”

“…”

I looked at her and coolly stood my ground as I looked down to see my bare feet. I still dawned my favorite pajama pants, a t-shirt, and my tan messenger bag was confidently hanging around my shoulder. “… Yeah, I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” I strutted arrogantly by her to the bathroom.

“You forget something?”

“Just making sure I didn’t already have one…” I avoided eye contact with her at all costs as I marched back to the linen closet for a towel. I grabbed a towel and stormed back to the bathroom. I went inside and slammed the door. Kimmy likely was still waiting in the hallway as, a moment later, the bathroom door cracked open and a messenger bag slipped out on the floor of the hallway. the door quietly shut once again.

We made it to sign-up at 8:50 A.M. When we walked into the room, my senses slammed into a brick wall. It was a preschool. It looked like a preschool. Smelled like a preschool. It sounded like a preschool.

“Hi! I’m Mrs. B.”

“Hi Mrs. B.” (emotionally regressed back to age 3, I was afraid to ask her first name)

“So, we just need to go through a few forms, I’ll take you on a tour, and we can go over any questions.”

“Cool.” Kimmy handled the forms. Kimmy does the forms. I don’t do forms.

Mrs. B took us across the room and showed us the entire school. The cafeteria. The auditorium. The play area, the circle for ‘circle time’ the wall of little boxes. I looked at them for a second. It came back to me. Cuh. Beh… “Cubbies. KIM! They have CUBBIES!” I started to lose it. Lizzie had a cubby. I knew it would turn into a locker in no time. Mrs. B showed us the rest of the preschool. I started to get sick. Really sick. “Uh. So, I never thought that this question would even have to be asked, but it’s just becoming part of the world we live in. What can you tell us about security? Like in the event of a…”

“Oh… Yeah. You’re right. This is becoming a scary world. But rest assured, this place can be turned into Fort Knox in no time.” She explained the fencing, the locks on the door. The windowless hallway with steel doors on both sides that doubled as a saferoom. “This world may be scary, but I assure you Mr. Parkin, Lizzie is going to be safe here.”

It did comfort me, but I knew that she had a lot more schooling to get through after preschool. For the first time, I picked up and held the idea that I wouldn’t be able to always be able to protect my baby girl.

We walked back into the classroom to go over the paperwork, I sat down. When I tried to find my center of gravity and balance on the chair, I recalled the preschool I went to, 20 years ago. Being in the preschool that day brought a lot of memories back. Like the chairs…

I remembered sitting on the ‘grown-up’ chairs and I felt really small, but I also felt really tall. As I pretended to be a grown up, sitting in the big chair made me feel I felt like I really was a grown up and I could do grown up things.

Sitting on the little chair that day, as a parent, I felt the same way.

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Mrs. B greeted us at the door. With a check-in list. I had tears in my eyes. Yeah, it probably looked stupid. As Kimmy checked Lizzie in, we walked her in and got her situated in the class. Other kids were screaming, crying, begging for their parents. Deep down I wanted Lizzie to do the same thing to me. But I was proud of my little girl. She went to her table and picked up the crayons and paper. I couldn’t stop watching her. I told her “Bye Lizzie, we’ll be back in a little while.” It broke my heart when she said “Okay. Bye.” Kimmy looked at Lizzie, then at me. My lip started to quiver when Kimmy picked up her cue. She grabbed my hand. As Kimmy tightened her grip on my wrist, she said, “Buh Bye Lizzie, we’ll see you later.”

“Okay. Bye” then Kimmy extracted me from the preschool before I started screaming, crying, and begging for my daughter.

An hour later, we picked Lizzie up. My girl was now educated. She brought homework with her. She had assignments. Things I didn’t know about. Conversations I didn’t know about. She had a life that was only described by her to me as “Good.” Or “Fine.” I trusted that it was a good life- her life. It was hers to build. As we drove home, I prayed that she would let me be as big a part of her life as I was hoping for.