First grade starts next week.
First grade for my kind, freckled thinker who is finding his voice, and up at night pondering the merits of inboard motors.
He will be fine. What choice does he have other than to be fine, to navigate his life on his own, at least a little bit, and figure out the way of the world through the small, significant, triumphs and heartbreaks of childhood.
The skinny-legged boy with the too-big backpack (aren’t they all?) will walk into school and I will drive away. And get a coffee. And drive to work. I will not worry.
I am ready for the big moments.
I am ready for first steps, lost teeth, first days. I am ready to watch them glide away without training wheels, to sound out books on their own, to tie their shoes.
My tender heart catches when I least expect it.
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