My Sister Is Published!

First-day jitters
Southwest Florida Parent & Child Magazine
By Angie Brooks

I KNEW IT WAS TIME for my daughter to go to preschool when she emphatically said to me, "Mom, when I go to school, you can’t come. I am going by myself!" WOW. That got my attention and felt like a hard prelude to the teenage years of parental rejection, although she was barely 3.

I realized I had been dragging my feet. We had been "interviewing" schools for more than a year, comparing ABCs and 123s, but none ever seemed to be good enough for Mommy. Each time we would check out a school together, she would excitedly think this is it — and I would have to drag her away, as Eva protested, "NO! I want to go to school!" After collecting pamphlets from every preschool in all the local counties (and some other states and countries), I looked at the mound of information clutter on my dining room table and made one last call. Yea! They offered diversity, a bilingual program, gardening, art, yoga, music, cooking … (I wanted to go, too).

I finally signed the dotted line, got her a physical, and two days later, we drove up to the new preschool, back pack and lunch box in tow. We were greeted at the door, "Buenos Dias." She was shown her own cubby, and then she led me into the classroom. I showed her where the bathroom was and gave her a quick refresher on manners and hygiene (yes, overprotective mom). Her eyes were everywhere, she was absorbing the environment, touching the puzzles, and this new exotic foreign land. She said, "The teacher wants us to go outside in two minutes." Eva pecked me and eagerly headed to join the other kids in line. No drama.

I suddenly realized I was the only parent left in the room and I headed for the door. I looked her teacher in the eye and said, "I am the one who is afraid to go." She patted my arm reassuringly and responded, "It’s normal." I walked out the door, giant tears running down my face, walked to my car, got in and cried a tsunami. Somehow, I managed to drive home, and felt the empty car seat staring at me. There I was greeted by an unremembered heavy silence. I drank my coffee alone, no noise, no questions to be answered, no needs to fill. I walked in the yard; my shadow was not following me. It was the longest day of my life, waiting and watching the clock.

When I picked her up she came bouncing around the corner, beaming, and gave me a big knowing hug as she rattled on about her fun day at preschool.

On the way home, I glanced back at the car seat where my preschooler sat singing "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" to herself in Spanish. I smiled. We had survived the first day.

— Angie Brooks is an artist living in Southwest Florida.