Back To School

Back To School

Back To School

I’ve been writing this blog with intent for twelve years. Twelve years ago, back to school meant something different to me. Twelve years ago when I dropped my son off for his first day of school, I knew my wife would be there to pick him up. I knew that everything would be simple, and when I came home there would be dinner to eat and kids to look after. Last weekend I dropped by son off at college, knowing that later that day I wouldn’t see him and that at dinner the house would be quiet.

This morning I dropped my daughter off at school. She’s a sophomore now, and even though I’ll see her tonight things are still, somehow, different. She’s a good kid, exhibiting plenty of knowledge and a surprising amount of wisdom for a 15 year old. But she’s afflicted with a bit too much of her dad’s approach to academics, that awful approach that assumes C’s are okay and B’s are pretty great. She’ll be just fine, and tonight when I see her I’ll ask about her day even though I already know what she’ll say. It was fine, she’ll remind me.

I don’t have any particular thoughts on these developments. I expected them both, and I’m glad to be here to see both transpire. I miss my son at school, but he’s still close (Madison), so I can see him whenever I feel like it, which will likely be more often than he feels like it. The house feels different now, but I wonder how much worse the alternative would be if my son weren’t texting me about his business classes and was, instead, sitting in his room wallowing in a lack of motivation. I prefer this current situation, but I can’t pretend it isn’t sad that my son’s childhood is in his, and my, rear view.

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