This week my eldest daughter, though she’s only three, starts school for the first time. Her birthday is in late October, so she will be one of the youngest in her junior kindergarten class. The idea of her going to school still boggles my mind a little. She’s so small. That said, she’s definitely ready, and super excited.
Dad, however, has a few questions. We have a meeting with her teacher later this week and I have some things I’d like to ask.
Seriously, it’s like preparing for a two-week trek across Nepal. Bags, bottles, boxes, containers, even smaller containers, yet smaller containers that fit within the containers. I don’t remember a ton from when I was in school, but I don’t recall lunch being such an ordeal. We were told what exact type of lunch bag to get, and when we got it home, it barely fit inside her backpack. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in homework, because there would be no room for her to fit anything else in her backpack.
It’s witchcraft, isn’t it? I’m cool with that, I don’t judge, I just need to know. I have two kids—two and three—and most of the time they are great; however, when they decide they both want the same toy, or one decides she wants to cast a magic spell on the other, the shrieking and flailing can get out of control. That’s with two. Teachers have like 20.
Oh, I’m totally kidding. I would never confront a four-year old—I would pay a five-year-old to do that for me. I don’t believe in violence, I encourage the use of non-violent protest and mediation to resolve differences. I choose Rocco, the 52-pound five-year-old, to help encourage healing dialogue.
Seriously, that shit was devastating.
They were like hotdogs, massive things. They still haunt my dreams a bit and my penmanship demonstrates why.