First Person: Looking at school from a brand new perspective ... First Person: Looking at school from a brand new perspective ... (September 28, 2005)

by Elizabeth Lorenz

Peeking in the window through lace curtains, we could see them. About 3 feet tall. Some concentrated on what they saw, some bit their lips, others burst into tears.

The same was true on the other side of the window. We were taller, but our reactions were the same -- we were in deep concentration, bit our quivering lips or wiped away an errant tear.

It was the first day of preschool. It's a big day in the life of any toddler, but in many ways bigger for a parent. It's the moment when your little charge suddenly isn't just your charge anymore. You're letting someone else begin to educate them, have influence on them, sing them their songs, read them their stories.

All of us stood there and watched as our children began wandering around their new classroom. Some took an instant dislike to the whole thing and crawled under a table or tried to run out the door. Others found a teacher's arms to console them, only to have a wave of "I want my Mommy" sweep over them again, bringing new tears.

Wee ones and grownups alike soldiered on in our own ways. The little ones played with new dollies or drew pictures, or pushed cars on a colorful road carpet.

Back in front of the window, we were mostly strangers, but we began to bond through this shared experience. Some of us tried to reassure each other, especially those who'd been through it before. Others made small talk or smiled gamely to mask the conflict of emotions inside.

"Mine's the little girl with the ponytails." "Mine's the one under the table," one woman mumbled as she strode away, gritting her teeth. Others marveled, relieved that their child hadn't even looked back.

At the end of the three hours, I made sure to show up early -- woe to the parent who shows up after everyone else's parent has taken them away -- and caught my daughter's eyes. Her bravery melted into tears as she saw me and felt so many new emotions. She was fine until after they played outside, the teacher said. Then she wanted to know when mommy was going to come back.

"I will always come back," I tell her.

"Where are you going to go?" she asked on the second day. I told her. Then I stayed at the window a few minutes again and watched her eyes fill with tears. She squeezed them away with her fists and took everything in. Baby dolls in one corner, a little boy crying over here, a table with paper for drawing over there.

I pulled myself away, grateful that mine wasn't the inconsolable little boy. At morning's end, my daughter cried a bit when she saw me, but quickly recovered and began to show me things around the room. I could tell this new world was becoming more comfortable for her.

A friend tells of her little boy's first day of preschool, when he looked back and told her, "Mommy, you can go now!"

My daughter and I haven't quite gotten there yet. When we do, I'm afraid it will be a bittersweet moment. My role is to give my child wings, right? But that won't mean I won't grit my teeth, bite my lip and cry a bit anyway.

Elizabeth Lorenz is a former associate editor and staff writer at the Palo Alto Weekly. As a reporter, she covered the education beat for six years -- and is now looking at school from a new perspective. She can be e-mailed at elizabeth_lorenz@yahoo.com.

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