Back To School

It's that time of year again:  The time when we send the most precious pieces of our hearts back into the world where they will learn new things, make new friends, and become their own people... without us.  It is a hard time of the year for me.  I am many things - among them, I am a teacher, a nurturer, a protector, and a control-freak.  When I send my son to school, I am sending him to other wonderful people to be taught, nurtured, and protected.  That makes me feel totally out of control.  It's rough.

But watching Smarty Pants develop his personality, intersts, and skills is also wonderful.  I am ridiculously (sometimes annoyingly) proud of my big first grader.

The night before his first day of school, we were cuddled up in his bed, reading a chapter of Junie B. Jones and saying our prayers.  Smarty Pants expressed some anxiety about the upcoming year of school (like mother, like son) and we started talking about what might be expected of him as a first grader.  I told him that he will have assessments for math, reading, physical education, and state standardized tests.  His abilities would be measured in numbers.  99th percentile in math.  3rd grade reading level.  One push-up (I'm being generous with that number - physical competition is not his thing).  But none of those numbers can measure how kind and polite he is. No number can articulate his artistic skills. No number can express the way he memorizes all of his friends' birthdays and favorite colors.  No number can show the way he gives his sister the biggest half of a cookie or the way he clears his place after supper without being asked.  But I told him that if he continued to do those things, people would notice.  His teachers and friends would notice those amazing traits - the traits that really matter.

After I dropped Smarty Pants off for the first day of school, I had to go to the nurse's office to drop off his rescue inhaler.  As I was waiting, many of his classmates were lining up in the hall.  One boy turned to the next in line.  "Hey, have you seen [Smarty Pants]?!"  "No.  Where is he?  Hey, have you seen [Smarty Pants]?!"  That boy turned to the next person in line.  And so it continued down the hall.  Everyone wanted to know where Smarty Pants was.  Everyone wanted to stand next to him in line.  Everyone wanted to ask how his summer went and give him a hug or a pat on the back.  Not because he had 25 Accelerated Reader points.  But because of the way he helps them find a teacher and a Band Aid after they fall on the playground.  Or the way he notices if they are having a bad day and tells them a knock-knock joke to cheer them up.  Because of things that can't be measured with numbers.