School Daze

Today was my sons’ first day back to school. Very exciting.

While they are entering second and first grade, respectively, one would think that the first day of a new school year would still serve up a helping of nerves. I saw a few kids with tears in their eyes and I wouldn’t have been surprised or even disappointed had either of my sons held on to mine or my wife’s legs a little while, trying to avoid facing the inevitable.

But they did just fine. They got up on time, got dressed, smiled at their friends and entered the school without hesitation.

My wife and I were able to accompany them in because our first grader had enough supplies in his backpack to embark on a months long, intensive arts and crafts expedition in the arctic. I respect a teacher who picks either markers, crayons or colored pencils and sticks with it. And if we need to send all three, do they really need two boxes of crayons? Can’t you just send a note home when the first box is running thin? Is she taking this stuff home to her own kids?

Anyway, the only one who was really stressed out on this first day in a new grade was yours truly. I don’t handle crowds well. I think it has something to do with that time as a kid when I thought I was grabbing on to my mom’s leg at the grocery store as I stared at the really fat guy and then realized that the leg I was grabbing was much too large to be my mother’s, finding out as I looked up that it belonged to some completely separate really fat guy. I can still see the sweat stains on the thighs of his slacks to this day.

So there I was, trying to hold on to my seven-year-old’s hand, pretending it was for his comfort, and get him to his room so we could help our six-year-old empty his gear into his locker, all the while bumping into the shoulders of other parents who seemed to find all this mayhem completely normal. I had to bite my lip in order to resist the two urges I had. The first was to scream. The second was to stick my very long arms out like a T and spin around, knocking down anyone unfortunate enough to be within reach, but effectively creating some space around myself.

Thankfully, my hopes to be involved in my sons’ ventures into organized, school sponsored sports remained intact as I was able to keep from doing either of those.

I did, however, nearly punt my oldest son across the hall into his new classroom in an attempt to retreat quickly back to where my wife and youngest son stood near his room. Maybe there the walls would not feel like they were closing in around me as I became trampled under the feet of a thousand PTA members. Maybe I could escape into the first grade classroom and get some air. Precious, precious air.

And then, of course, I felt like a jerk when my wife called to my eldest for the hug and kiss that I had failed to instruct him to give her. His wits still about him, he obliged and went happily to his room while I stood frozen in the rushing river of humanity about me.

I’m not sure how I made it out of the crowd, but I have an image in my head of my wife dragging me from behind by the collar and then performing CPR, my head resting on the foamy alphabet squares that line the first grade floor. There’s no other explanation for how I managed to survive.

But survive I did. Yet another first day come and gone. All the butterflies and jitters were for naught.

Now, to avoid having to go through that again, I’ll need to establish a system by which the boys will dive out of the sliding doors on the side of the minivan as it slows down to 10 mph next to the school. It’s all about the tuck and roll.