Dear Ella and Aidan,
Tomorrow, you start kindergarten.
It feels like your dad and I have
been counting down to this moment since you were born: “Can you believe in
three years they will go to school?” “Next year at this time they will be in
school.” “Only two more months until school.” But now, in time that’s felt less
like a marathon and more like a 50-yard sprint, we’re buying markers and
pencils, big backpacks and colored folders.
As
with every other step along this parenting journey, friends, family, even
strangers have offered opinions on how I’ll feel tomorrow. I haven’t a clue
but I do know that when the door closes and I get that last glimpse of you for
seven hours, you’ll crowd my thoughts: what you’re doing, what you’re thinking,
if you’re ok, if you’re eating your lunch and using your manners, if you miss
me.
Being a
parent has been interesting, frightening, rewarding, and frustrating - sometimes
all at once. On the day you were born, you were babies so
welcomed and wondered over - a perfect set of twins. You were so tiny and ready
to meet the world. From the first time I held you both in my arms and saw those
little fists balled up and your sweet little red faces when you cried, I knew that
you would be something big.
I was
fortunate enough to be able to stay home with you and spend every second marveling
in your development. Like so many parents of our generation, we tried to give
you those “must-haves” the experts insisted upon:
Lots of
books: Check.
Minimal
TV: Check.
Early
preschool: Check.
[mostly] Healthy meals: Check.
While
we have given you advantages and can buy those school supplies and pack your
lunch, you will now have to go it alone. And as the days draw nearer to the
start of school, I notice you both testing the waters, asking questions, imitating imagined
conversations, thinking aloud what this strange new world will be like.
Ella
- my gregarious little social butterfly, you are still very cautious, watching and
learning before truly jumping in. You will rely upon Aidan as your sounding board throughout the coming years.
Aidan
- just a step to the side of shy, yet always sporting a bruise or a cut — you will soon be cliff diving, yet relying upon
Ella to check the ropes.
Not long ago I expressed my hesitations about school to a teacher acquaintance. Her
advice stuck with me: The hardest part of releasing you both to elementary school —
or any new experience — is realizing that I must give you up to the
less-than-perfect world that awaits you.
While
the world has been and always will be imperfect, I too have been an imperfect
parent. But I was always willing to learn, to say I was sorry, to try harder
the next time. And now I’m willing to release you, with the knowledge that
school, like parenting, will be rewarding and frustrating and I cannot change
that. Despite all those fortunes of your early life, you will have sad days and
lonely days and days when you just don’t want to go, when your teacher doesn’t
notice you or your best friend won’t play with you or another kid is mean to
you.
And
those days, my loves, will break my heart.
If
there are a few thoughts that carry you through, let them be this: While your
dad and I have to let you go, no matter what you think or do or become we will
always be there for you and listen. Dive off that cliff occasionally (check the
rope first). And know that in our imperfect world, with all of our imperfect ways,
we have been given the two of you - the two most perfect gifts one could ever imagine.
Love,
Mom and Dad
