On the Eve of Preschool

To Magoo on the night before you begin preschool,

Wow I have a lot of emotions running through my head.  Tomorrow is truly a monumental day in your life: the day you begin formal education.  I’m sure even at 4 you already understand that both your father and I are huge proponents of education, and if you are anything like us, this will just be the first of twenty plus years of formal schooling.  And it all begins tomorrow with my opening the doors to the minivan, dropping you off, and then closing the doors and driving away.

It’s the latter part that is breaking my heart.

The first place I ever took you by myself was the mall.  Your father had just gone back to work after taking two weeks off and I wanted some place to go.  I had always heard that the mall was where stay at home moms went to get out of the house, and so I tried it.  (Seeing as how we never really went back, you can probably guess that this wasn’t our solution.)

I was so confused during those early days.  I didn’t know what you needed.  I tried to give you my all and be everything you needed, but moment by moment, I never really knew if I was failing or succeeding.

On that particular morning, you were quite hungry, so I sat down on a comfortable chair near the elevator, I took out a bottle,  and I fed you.  While you ate, I looked around and I saw hundreds of people going this way and that.  And then I looked down at you, and I felt the most extraordinary connection.  I knew that even in a sea of people, you belonged to me and I to you.

There is oriental folklore that says that parents and children are connected together forever by an invisible red string.  This story is told often in adoption circles because the string is there from a true parent to their true child, biological or not.

I am reminded of this tonight because tomorrow for one of the first times ever, our string will have to travel miles.  For the last four years, you have been closer to me than my right arm.  We have pretty much been inseparable from the moment you were born.  There would be brief times when I would go run an errand or whatnot, but for the most part, it’s been you and me.  But tomorrow, when I close the doors again to the minivan, you won’t be with me.  I will turn around and drive away from a piece of my heart.  And amidst all of this confusion and chaos and emotion running through my head, that is the thought that is most inconceivable to me — that I will leave you somewhere.  Sure, it’s only for 2 and a half hours, but it’s the longest our red string will ever have had to stretch.

As much as I’m tearful tonight (and every moment I have had to myself over the past week,) I really am excited for this moment for you.  If anyone were ready for preschool, it is you.

You don’t know this now, but for the longest time, I wanted to home school you.  I felt compelled to do it.  I would begin thinking of dropping you off at preschool, and my thought would end with peer pressure, self consciousness, mean girls, eating disorders, drugs, depression… the list goes on.  I saw the horrors of the world, and I wanted to protect you.  But even more so, I saw the purity of your soul, the strength of your spirit, and I wanted to shelter it, protect it from all harm so you could grow up just as innocent and pure as you are now.

But then slowly an idea started to chip away at that theory.  I realized that this world is a gift given to you by your creator.  God gave the world to you to live in and He gave you to the world so that you could bring your light to it.  It was a mutual gift, and to shelter you from that would be to take away your birth right.

The way I see it, I had two options.  I could try to shelter you from the world and all its evils.  Perhaps I would be successful at this for a time, perhaps not.  Or I could present the world to you, let you live and breathe and experience all it has to offer.  And when you come across a rough patch, I can help you navigate those waters.  The first choice could suffocate but the latter can help you truly learn to soar.  After all, you aren’t destined to become yourself despite the world but rather you are destined to become yourself through the world.

And in the end, it comes down to my belief that there are two things parents really have a duty to give their children.  The first is roots and the second wings.  We have spent the last four years, day in and day out, trying to help you grow solid roots, and we will spend the majority of the next two decades continuing this work.  But at one point, we also must allow you the opportunity to try out your wings.  We must give you the freedom and see how high and how far you will soar.

I could keep you hidden away and mold you into what I desire you to be.  I could only expose you to ideas and worlds that I want you to be exposed to, and in that way, I can attempt to control the person you will become.  Or I can send you out into the sunshine and let you grow and flourish in the light and the warmth and watch you become not who I want you to be, but who you were created, who you were destined to be.

And if there is one thing I know for sure, you my dear were meant for greatness.

So yes, I will cry after I drop you off tomorrow, and I will probably cry a dozen times before then (all out of your sight of course,) but those are my selfish tears.  The tears of a mama who wants to keep her baby a baby forever.  The other part of me will be rejoicing for you and in you.

But when you walk out of those school doors tomorrow afternoon, you will have two wide open arms to run into.  And nothing will change that.  Not years or miles or choices or mistakes.  Wherever you go, no matter how far or how wide you travel, my arms will always be there for you to run back to when you need a respite from the world.

And know also that during those times when my eyes aren’t able to physically be watching over you that you have a special angel in Heaven who will always have you in her sights.  You will never be truly alone.

I love you with all of my heart, and being your mama is the pleasure of my life.