Unfortunately my son insists on growing up, and so today, along with every other kindergartener in Houston, he started school.
Of course, this was really the end of a process that began with moving into a house in a good school zone, assuming you just go to the local school, then finding out that you don't, but then managing to apply (presenting birth certificates, passports, and library cards from three generations of ancestors) and getting in, then keeping the white pieces of paper but signing and returning the green ones, then receiving letters informing you that you have to buy ALL the school stationery yourself and deliver it on the first morning, then attending presentations and initiations, then...then...then...
To complicate matters, I'm sure when I first met Pete's teacher she spoke English but now she and all the staff insist on speaking only Spanish when kids are present. This was frustrating, as though the school enjoyed adding another layer of opacity ("Thought you didn't understand all this before? Now try it IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE!") but then I realised how funny it was to dredge up any scraps of French I could remember and add -io to the end of each word. They're gonna love me.
And so today was the first day, and I took Pete along with the box full of stuff from the checklist. He was wearing his red shirt and khaki shorts, as directed, and carrying his lunch in a backpack. We found our way to the school hall, and I witnessed a girl in his class giving Pete's teacher a bouquet of flowers! You thought institutionalised bribery was limited to politics here in the States?! Pete will be arriving with $200 of chocolates and perfume tomorrow.
Luckily some of Pete's friends from pre-school are in his class, so he seems completely chilled and happy about the whole thing, just another transition in a life full of them. Inevitably there was some hugging, crying, vomiting, and wetting of trousers when it finally came time to say goodbye, but Pete was patient, told me to stop embarrassing myself, and the teaching assistant helped clean me up before politely escorting me from the school grounds.
I'll be back this afternoon, to see how it all went.
Little man, ready to go.
Big man, not quite so ready.
When I was 5, my school curriculum was "try not to get beaten up". This is a little more intellectual.
