Thursday, June 9, 2011
The last week of school. Today was the sprout's last day of preschool. For 18 months he has decided to wave to me through the front window of his school, or not, while I walk away, backwards, from the front door to my car. When he decides to wave, I weep when I can no longer sustain eye contact. I walk slowly backwards to the car, waving and blowing kisses, and when I get there I sometimes run back halfway and do it all over again, because I can see his smiling face, his waving hands, his blown kisses through the glass. But, eventually, it's time for him to start his day and for me to drive away but I'll tell you: he's never the first to brake contact. It's always me. Eventually, he will be the one in this two-some to be the first to walk away but for now, it's me. I have to walk away, and I'll have to do it in kindergarten, too. Today I walked away, broke contact, looked back to see that he had walked away as well. I had to pull my car down the road to turn around and while I was driving by his school, there he was, like he'd never left, waving with all his might through the window and I waved back and kept driving, weeping.