Today was my son’s last day of preschool. Noah sang, clapped, marched across a bridge bedecked with balloons and ate Popsicles, all with his typical fervor. I’m sure there was a trace of melancholy somewhere. Maybe that trace was in my heart, but still.
His loving cadre of teachers spoke of his sterling smile, compassionate nature and constant striving to learn new things. Mostly he’s just a fun little boy who loves to build, play with friends and ask questions. His impish side is usually reserved for me, his Papa and his sister, Syma. We wouldn’t have it any other way. The mom of one of my best friends wisely pointed out that if your child is well-behaved in school, and somewhat less so at home, you’re doing something right as a parent. There’s a social boundary that should kick in when a child goes to school. Where a child feels most at ease–ideally, at home–he doesn’t need to draw the boundary.
So my first-born baby is two-thirds of the way done with preschool. One more year and he’s off to kindergarten. I’m not ready for that yet, and I suspect it’ll still feel too soon when the day arrives.
Excitement lurks next year, when Noah ramps up to a four-day week, with a focus on Spanish language and a book club. I never went to preschool. But I am now, thanks to Noah, and I count it pure joy.
You’re never too young to go back to school–even preschool.