Tomorrow marks the beginning of my little girl's public education, and the loosening of my grasp on her little life. Tomorrow, she will be a public school student, a malleable product of a professional teacher, an impressionable playground attendee. Tomorrow, she will be immersed in the culture of America. Tomorrow, she will become number 20 on her class list, another Shelby on the red rug, a B. on her name tag in case there are duplicates. She will learn to hang up her backpack, turn in her homework and flip her attendance card, in case her teacher's too busy to notice her.
Tomorrow, my daughter's presence in her kindergarten classroom will be a testament to what we have painstakingly taught her in these short almost five years at home. She will offer her manners, her understanding of friendship, her happiness, her frustration, her willingness to try new things, her laughter, and her heart to a community of her peers. She will stand out. She will be great.
She will be younger. She may struggle. She might cry. But she will succeed.
Tomorrow marks yet another "first" in our world. The first day I will kiss my daughter goodbye on the playground-not the preschool playroom, and trust she will line up at the right door. And much like that first day of preschool, tomorrow I will return home to wonder what she's doing every second of the day. If she's met a new friend, if she's feeling sad, if she had someone to sit with at snack time. I will miss her. I will miss her.
Tomorrow, my daughter's presence in her kindergarten classroom will be a testament to what we have painstakingly taught her in these short almost five years at home. She will offer her manners, her understanding of friendship, her happiness, her frustration, her willingness to try new things, her laughter, and her heart to a community of her peers. She will stand out. She will be great.
She will be younger. She may struggle. She might cry. But she will succeed.
Tomorrow marks yet another "first" in our world. The first day I will kiss my daughter goodbye on the playground-not the preschool playroom, and trust she will line up at the right door. And much like that first day of preschool, tomorrow I will return home to wonder what she's doing every second of the day. If she's met a new friend, if she's feeling sad, if she had someone to sit with at snack time. I will miss her. I will miss her.
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