A Small Reprieve

I drove the kiddo to school this morning, and she seemed particularly excited about seeing her new friend. In fact, as we crossed the parking lot--holding hands, no less--she announced to the assistant principal, who was helping direct traffic, "I love kindergarten!"

As we approached the main doors, my daughter pulled me down to her and whispered in my ear, "Daddy, I can go in by myself. I don't need you to walk me." I paused, collected myself, and in the spirit of wanting her to be independent--even if that means she'll one day move out of the house, graduate from college, get married, have her own kids, and never live at home again, thus rendering me useless--told her that she could. I gently reminded her that I would be happy to go with her, but if she wanted to do it on her own, that would be fine. Obviously I knew what this meant, because I've seen the movies: Once a child does something by herself, she's never asks for help with it again. She smiled and kissed me on the cheek and trotted off.

Of course, I had no intention of letting her go by herself. I was going to trail behind her ten or fifteen yards so that she couldn't see me, a skill I first learned years ago when I was courting Public School Mom (I'm kidding). As she opened the front door, she looked back and saw me standing in the middle of the walkway, and she shooed me off. I then pretended to examine a nearby bike rack and glanced back at her. She was now inside, watching me through the glass. And that's when a look came over her face that I recognized immediately: She was suddenly unsure. I smiled at her, and she burst back through the door. As I knelt down, she told me, "Daddy, I got a little nervous." I squeezed her hand, and we walked inside together. Tomorrow she may decide that she's ready, but I was happy to have today.