Kindergarten

You wake up day after day, build spaceships out of legos, swim, fight over bedtime, watch him learn and grow, without so much as a thought to the passing time. Then with the first day of kindergarten comes the weight of the world as you leave him sitting there under the basketball goal in the gym with the other kids.

He smiles back and you have to hurry out; not because you're worried that he will run after you, but because you know that if you stay too long the magnitude of the situation will set in and you might not hold it together.

He has learned from other people before, but now this is different. It's more official. It's from 7:45 to 2:30 and that seems like a semester of college in some far-away place.

His pencils are sharp and his imagination is ready. He's probably writing his name at the top of his paper. Is the B backwards?

We'll pick him up and walk home. He'll tell stories of kids he met, things he learned, and ask if he can buy chicken fried steak instead of taking organic carrots and yogurt in his lunch.

We'll still play legos, but it will be different. He's getting older.

Is it 2:30 yet?