The first day of school...
This week the children in our area will start a new school year. New school supplies, new teachers, a new classroom, new classmates and often a new building all create an atmosphere of anticipation and apprehension for children and parents. Teachers feel the same anticipation and apprehension (at least this teacher does).
This past spring I found a robin nest in one of our pine trees. I cautiously took the photo and marveled at the incredible blue of 'robin egg blue'. The next few weeks, I peeked in on the eggs and then babies and watched them take flight from their hidden home inside the pine.
Recently while visiting with a friend, I asked her son when he was leaving for university. Without pause, he said the date with the enthusiasm of a college freshman ready to fly.
When my husband and I dropped off our oldest at his university a few years ago, I hugged my 'final' hug (complete w/tears free flowing). My son looked at his father and asked, "Is she going to be okay?" My husband responded, "I am not sure." I look back at this moment with extreme fondness because at the time I didn't think I was going to be okay but I am. To quote Tim Rice's lyrics from the move
'Lion King', "It's the circle of life and it moves us all." No matter how old your child is, the first day of school is part of your child's circle and your own circle.
The essay below has been hanging in my laundry room for awhile. I did a
quick search but was unable to locate the author, Paula Carroll from Timonium,
Maryland. I am not even sure where I found this article....it is not
from a magazine or newspaper. Well, whatever...kudos to Paula.
So preschoolers, kindergarteners, high school and college students....Baby birds, it's time for your first flight.
First Flight by Paula Carroll
The plaque reads, "There are only two lasting bequests that we can give our children. One is roots, the other is wings." A thoughtful parent reads the words and feels a twinge. Roots grow slowly and silently beneath the surface of daily family life. Wings sprout in the embrace that occurs when the child leaves the family residence. The separation often begins when the child leaves for college.
For months, parents and child know the target date. As the day approaches, they collect and pack items on the college list. Groups of high school friends gather to say goodbye. The conversation focuses on the mythical college life they imagine. Upperclassmen call to reassure the beginner that survival is guaranteed. Everyone evades the idea of "leaving home."
The day arrives. All of the material items necessary for independence are loaded in to the car. The journey begins. Map reading, sign sighting, and time checks dominate the limited, inconsequential conversation. Each silently acknowledges the mounting anxiety. They drive through the main entrance and see the buildings that identify academia. They locate the assigned dorm and capture a strategic parking place. They move large items into one-half of a small room. Activity fills the next hours. Eventually the scheduled assembly time for "students only" arrive. It is time for good-byes.
In the handshake and the one armed hug of the father to son, in the lifted embrace of father to daughter, in the touching hearts as mother holds daughter, in the tip-toed reach and clinging embrace of mother to son, parents give wings to their children.
Humor or relief serve as temporary defenses. Eventually, the empty chair at the dinner table, the unused bed, the uneaten snacks or the tidy bathroom verify that the child is gone. Time passes. Then comes the first visit home. In the course of the "visit", parents notice new time schedules, new attitudes, new priorities and a new restlessness. "Visiting home" is paradoxical. Time solves the puzzle. The etymology of "growing pains" becomes apparent.
Hand-holding days are over. Now understanding hearts provide support. Just as the robin stands guard on the limb of a tree as the struggling baby thrush attempts to lift himself from the ground, parents stand by as children develop their natural abilities. Both learner and observer work through the waiting.
Like the bird, the child was born to build a nest, to sing a song. Whenever or however parents give the gift of wings to children, a remarkable gesture of unselfish love occurs. Parents accept the end of an era in their lives. They trust that unseen, immeasurable roots will sustain the growing child. They hope to see an adult, contented with his or her own composition.
