Every day that I drop Paddy off at preschool I feel a profound sense of sadness. On June 8th Paddy will graduate and later this year he will begin a new chapter in his life, kindergarten.
Growing up there was no discussion of what school we would attend. There were no options or decisions to be made. I did not live in a school district that was labeled as "under-performing" and that had been taken over by the state of Massachusetts. I do now.
Yet, we were still ready to enroll him in our city school. And then we heard stories of extended school days. We heard that good teachers were leaving the district in droves. We were told that our son's education would be focused on passing standardized tests.
Even so, I wasn't worried. I was confident that Paddy would be able to attend the school in the next town over. I thought school choice would be an easy option. At the end of March, however, I learned that there were no openings for him. I panicked.
Patrick and I called a realtor. We went to the bank to get pre-qualified for a mortgage. We started looking at new homes in South Hadley, Hatfield, Florence, Westhampton. Anywhere but here.
I also started filling out school applications, learning I had missed many of the deadlines for the much sought after programs in our area. I began to feel like a failure. It is my responsibility to make sure he gets a good education and I had dropped the ball.
But then, about 2 weeks ago, we learned that he had been accepted into a wonderful new pilot program in our city. The answer to our prayers. We were elated, or at least my husband was. We went downtown and registered him for school. "This is exciting!" said my husband. "Yes," I calmly agreed.
It didn't make any sense. Everything had worked out the way it should. We are able to stay in our home and our son is enrolled at a fabulous school. Although I had panicked about so many things over the last few months--the state taking over our school district, the longer school day for my 5-year-old, having to put Gabo in the car twice a day, five days a week to ferry his brother to school, Gabo not being able to take afternoon naps, Gabo not being able to attend the preschool we would want--everything had worked out, hadn't it?
Yesterday, as I drove Paddy to preschool and we looked in awe at the clouds touching the mountain, it hit me. We stopped to watch a groundhog eating in a field and talked about the large red tailed hawk that had just flown over the car and I started to cry.
All of the panic and let down I have been feeling boils down to one thing: I am sad.
I am sad that my little boy is growing up.
I am sad that my little boy will be away from me 8 1/2 hours a day, 5 days a week.
I am sad that Gabo will be separated from his "Bo" 8 1/2 hours a day, 5 days a week.
I am sad that Gabo won't hear his 2-year-old buddy Anna calling as we walk into preschool: "Where's Gabo? Where's Gabo?"
I am sad that we won't see the splendor of autumn in the mountain leaves every fall morning.
I am sad that I won't be showing my boys eagles and hawks as we drive to school.
I am sad that we won't stay after school to play with our friends in "nature play."
I am sad that I won't see the friends I have made.
We are losing something as we make the transition from preschool to kindergarten and no matter what I am freaking out about in the moment, it really comes down to one simple thing: I am sad that we are losing it.
