The Last Day

I can't believe it's finally here. My firstborn son's last day of elementary school. Please let me pause for a big sigh and a tear or two. It seems like just yesterday I was putting him on the bus for the first time and waiting anxiously for him to come home from Kindergarten and tell me he was ok. He was, and, 6 years later, still is.

In my 2008 post The End of the Innocence I wrote about how I was worried that Michael would be all alone at school, that no one would watch over him as I did. I needn't have worried. Not only did Michael have a slew of great teachers (art, music, and gym teachers included) who helped him learn and grow, but they were all guardian angels to him too. It was such a comfort to know that if Michael was having a problem in school (with friends or bullies) that I could e-mail or call his teacher and he/she would help us sort it out.

One of Michael's last writing assignments was to write a letter to a teacher that made an impression on him. He chose to write to one of the lunch ladies who was particularly nice to him throughout the years. When he first told me this was who he wrote his letter for I was kind of confused because there were so many excellent teachers he could have written to. But when he told me why he wrote to her it made sense. She may have been one of his most important guardian angels. She was the one who gave him a free cookie when he turned in $10 that he found on the playground; she let him have hot lunch when he forgot his; and, most importantly, she stuck up for him when he was being bullied at lunch. I'm sure she doesn't get much recognition from the students - kudos to Michael for stepping up.

And now he is on his way to middle school. How is that possible? I am glad (and relieved) that the same sensitive soul that I sent to Kindergarten is still there, even though he is housed in a much larger package and has a much bigger mouth. Yet, he still feels all the feelings and (most of the time) still shares them with me or his father. His formative years in elementary school molded and shaped him into a budding young man that I am proud to call my son. He not only learned to excel in reading, math, science, and writing, but became an expert in how to be a good friend to others and how to be a leader. At his 5th grade completion ceremony he was one of two kids in the 5th grade class to write and read a speech. He did a stellar job - much later he admitted that he was very nervous, but you never would have known it while watching him.

Michael at 5

When he started Kindergarten the cords between us were bound tightly. They have loosened a lot in the past 6 years. While I still wake him up in the morning and make his breakfast, he is now capable of picking out his clothes (I have learned to let go of his style of putting together green and blue plaid shorts and a yellow shirt) and getting his backpack ready and tying his own shoes. I still walk him and his brother to the bus stop but let them to make their own way home in the afternoon. Michael has developed his own sense of independence and I often struggle with my own growing pains while the cord stretches yet again. (Yes, I know it will keep stretching in the years to come.)

While I don't sleep with him very often at night and he doesn't kiss me goodnight anymore, he lets me tuck him in and kiss him on the cheek or forehead. And while we were in Florida this February he was very affectionate, holding my hand as we walked through Legoland or putting his arm around me through Harry Potter World in Universal Studios.

Michael at 11

I'll take it cause I know it won't last forever. One of his friends just turned 11 and told his mom that she was no longer allowed to snuggle with him because he was too old. Michael will someday inform me of this fact too, but I hope that day is far away.

Yesterday I made the mistake of making a list of lasts for him - "Michael today you had your last recess, your last music class, your last lunch at elementary school." By the time he went to bed he was emotionally spent. I should have known this would upset him. We spent a tearful yet cathartic moment lying next to each other in the top bunk of his bed talking about what a great experience elementary school was and what he was going to miss most about it. Then I told him about how his life is a book that is full of chapters and that this was only the end of one of those chapters.



"When you turn the page Michael," I told him, "the next page is blank. It is the beginning of the next chapter of your life and you have the power to make it what you want."

I hope it is full of watercolor paintings and lots of words, full of friendships old and new, packed with experiences and discoveries and learning, and that it overflows with smiles and laughter.