The journey to first grade

Tommy started first grade on Monday, at the same school where he attended all-day kindergarten last year. The whole enterprise felt much more blasé than his first day of kindergarten – he didn’t need new uniforms, he knew he was going to class with five of his friends, and just as they did every nice day last year, he and Matt tossed a baseball back and forth until the bus came. It was almost as if the summer never happened.

As I watched him bound up the steps of the bus shouting glad hellos to the bus driver (the beloved Tony from last year) and all of his friends, it seemed impossible that he was ever a baby. But indeed he was, a one-year-old that Matt and I traveled with for thirteen months. In fact, five years ago we were spending the month of September in New Haven, Connecticut, the third of our eight stops. Matt was doing research on the Yale campus every day and Tommy and I were making the most of a sterile short-term rental apartment with tepid air conditioning. Here, in a quote from my book manuscript, is how back to school time went there:

I felt unmoored in New Haven, unsure how to find a routine for myself and Tommy. During the summer it had been easier to pretend that we were simply on an extended vacation. Now the world seemed full of back-to-school purpose while I lurked aimlessly on the edges.

To make matters worse, the junior high across the street let out right at the beginning of Tommy’s afternoon nap. The officials had clearly decided to treat dismissal like it was an army drill: it was controlled by a man barking commands through a large loudspeaker over the din one would expect as hundreds of pre-teens boarded school buses. The bus drivers added to the clamor by honking their horns and backing up, the reverse beeping droning repeatedly through the air. The entire process took over 45 minutes and I wondered what kind of discipline problems the school had that it needed to implement this kind of approach to a simple daily routine. I had a clue when I saw the crossing guard who was on duty at dismissal time. Wearing an untucked and wrinkled shirt, he had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He didn’t so much direct traffic as he pleaded with vague gestures, his entire posture implying that he expected to be
run over.

There are times when I’m grateful to be home! But I was also thrilled when Tommy came home from school on Monday and reported that he told all of his friends about his trip to Paris. He may not be a baby anymore, but you know, I’d still take him on an extended trip. But maybe we’ll skip New Haven this time.