Why does this photo make me so sad?
/My daughter, waiting for the bus to kindergarten. Her little brother, standing alongside her.
So sweet.
So why does it make me so sad?
My daughter’s bus stop is completely ridiculous, and I so wish I could be there.
/When I was a kid, my siblings and I stood beneath an enormous oak tree at the bottom of the driveway and waited for the bus. Our parents had long since left for work, and a key was tied around my neck so that we could get back inside after school.
We were young. I was taking care of my brother and sister before and after school by the time I was in third grade. Maybe earlier.
My brother would lay down in the middle of the road with his ear to the pavement and claim that he could hear the bus coming.
Acorns would pelt us from above.
Cars would fly by at 50 miles per hour and more.
We stood at the bottom of that gravel driveway regardless of precipitation or temperature.
It wasn’t my favorite part of childhood, but I remember those times at the bus stop with a certain degree of fondness. As we grew older, it was rare for the three of us to be together, alone, pointed in the same direction, hoping for the same result. It was a means of regrouping for us. A reminder that we were about to embark on our individual lives again, but at the end of the day, we would be standing here again, regardless of the result.
Now my daughter waits for the school bus. Like me, she also waits with her sibling, though he does not go to school yet. He watches (often still in his pajamas) with a touch of sadness as his sister climbs aboard the bus each day.
My sister recalls feeling the same way when I would leave for kindergarten every morning. She and my brother would look out the picture window and dream of a day when they could climb aboard the bus with me.
I may look fondly upon my days at the bus stop, but they were nothing like the photos my wife has been sending me from my daughter’s first few days waiting for the school bus.
This is ridiculous. This makes me envious beyond imagination.
My kindergartener
/My daughter enters kindergarten tomorrow. I can’t believe it.
Time hasn’t exactly flown by for me. I write to my children every day, reflecting on the day’s events, noting tiny bits of amusement, and selecting photos of time spent together. This process, which I began when I first knew that my wife was pregnant, serves as an excellent way of marking time and remembering the moments. It slows things down a bit. Makes a month feel like a month. A year feel like a year.
I’m not left wondering where the time has gone. I can look back and see it. I feel it’s weight and heft. I just can’t believe how little time there has been since she was first born.
Five years is nothing. Clara is everything.
Now a part of her will belong to the world. She is joining the community, beginning the hopefully slow, inexorable separation from her parents. Thankfully, happily, joyously, that process has many, many years to go.
Today I celebrate my daughter’s last day with us before we hand her over to teachers and principals and the start of her future. Today is her special day, we have told her. Anything she wants.
She has chosen playgrounds and splash pads and ice cream.
I hope these choices will never change.
