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Full-Time Dads;
The Magazine for Caregiver Fathers
Issue 24
I just got home from taking my number one son to his first day in school, and it wasn't as harrowing as I thought it would be.
Oh, there were a few minor delaying tactics, but that was to be expected. He dawdled around for the better part of an hour eating breakfast. Three bowls of corn flakes and two of Cheerios. He claimed that he wasn't too sure about the school's attitude on coffee breaks and didn't want to pass out from hunger.
His shoes were standing neatly by the bed with knots in the laces that would have baffled a Chief Petty Officer. He cleverly blamed that on the dog, a myopic, toothless, sixteen-year-old, senile Cocker Spaniel. I quick-polished a a second pair of shoes and he put those on with little or no trouble. I slicked his hair down for the eleventh time, and he belched and complained about a bad batch of cereal. Not to be taken in the that old stomache-ache ploy, I opened the door and off we went.
It as kind of fortunate that two of his neighborhood cronies were going to school also, so we whistled them out as we passed their houses. Their mothers just shoved them out on the porch, slammed the door, and there they were.
The school was only a block straight down the street and I walked along rather proudly with my soon-to-be pupils. The kids veered off one time, claiming they knew a short-cut, but I didn't fall for that, and kept them in line the rest of the way.
The school yard was a flower garden of brightly dressed children, either laughing and shouting or sulky and worried looking. I seemed to be the only male-type parent there. The rest were young ladies who stood around in small groups in their tight designer jeans, continually throwing their hair back off their faces.
I was starting to feel ill-at-ease when a bell rang and a young lady, who look to be not many years older than my son, came out of the school. With very little effort she herded all the children together and marched them into the building. I got kind of a lump in my throat when my boy paused in the doorway, turned around, smiled at me and waved...and then they were gone...and all was quiet.
I knew that the kindergarten was on the ground floor so when everyone had gone I strolled nonchalantly over and peered in the window. At first glance it appeared to be complete chaos but I guess it wasn't. It was just a group of very young people suddenly thrown together with more people their own age than ever before. Self-consciously wondering how to act, who to talk to and what to say. I saw my son, smiling and talking eagerly with three or four other little fellas, and I said to myself, "he'll be alright."
Then one thoughtful little person appeared out of the crowd and spit on the inside of the window, right in front of my face. I flinched, gave a shuddering sigh, turned away and walked slowly back home.
Copyright 1996 Jim Thorley
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