No One Can Stop Gravity
No one can stop gravity.
Today is Tuesday and you've officially been at school for a week. The first day didn't count because it was more of a parent-teacher meeting and afterwards we took you to babička's and went to work.
Today is Tuesday and you've officially been at school for a week. The first day didn't count because it was more of a parent-teacher meeting and afterwards we took you to babička's and went to work.
I had written a note to myself on my iPhone not to forget to put your snack in your backpack (rice-cake with peanut butter; chocolate croissant; two carrot sticks) and not to forget to fill your water bottle. But when I got up Mommy had already done that before she had left for work. Every fourth Tuesday she has to go to work early, like I do every first and third Tuesday and she was gone before we even got up at six.
I put rice cake with peanute butter in it last night because I know you like that and it is filling. I know that you almost certainly will not like whatever they give you at lunch; and you have to fill up at snacktime.
You put the backpack on. With the little textbooks and snack-box and water bottle and gym towel in it, as well as your school slippers, it looked huge on you. Nearly as big as you are. Your backpack has Minions on it. You love Minions. YOu've seen Despicable Me 1 and 2 more than a half dozen times along with the Minions movie.
You told me that you weren't going to play with it until uschool was over and you were in Družina (a kind of after-school day-care at the school itself for working parents: it goes until three and the kids play either outside or inside when the weather is disagreeable.)
I thought to myself how in a few years you would be embarassed to bring such a toy to school. It is such a little boy's toy. But I hope that is a few year's off still.
We went down to the car with Honzik and left at about 7:40, which is when the school unlocks its front doors. It took us 8 minutes to drive to school. You and Honzik got out. I put the backpack on you. You held my hand as we walked in the door. I walked tall and confident beside you.
I noticed you had pink smudges all around your mouth, the dried encrustactions of tooth paste. I told you swipe your mouth with your sleeve. That didn't work. I told you to lick all around your mouth and try it again. Still didn't work. Finally, I had to resort to licking my finger and rubbing off the encrusted toothpaste.
"I used to hate it when my mommy did this to me", I told you. I don't think you even heard me, your mind locked in pre-school jitters.
Inside we waded through the hustle and bustle of parents (quite attractive women exchanging smiles, part of my brain noticed) and kids, to the little caged off area where you changed from your shoes ("They are almost the same as Honzik's but Honzik's are bigger!" you had told me while putting them on.
I took your coat up. The bell rang. The first bell, the warning bell. YOu did a nervous dance, shifting from foot to foot. "OOOOOhhhh!" you said. "Hurry".
"Do you have to pee?"
"No! I'm just nervous because I'm afraid I'm gonna be late."
"You won't be late. Are you sure you don't have to pee?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
I walked you to the classroom. Your place had been moved, but your name was there printed on a paper. You unzipped your backpack and got out a little notebook, then dutifully zipped it back up, walked over to the window and placed it underneath.
It was at that point you gave me a hug. A strong hug, a long hug, gripping more tightly than usual. I rubbed your shoulder.
"Everybody has to do school, bud. " I told you. "Sometimes its bad, but sometimes it's good. You'll be all right."
I left and remembered that your "homework" the day before had been to tell us to buy you gym clothes. You had remembered to tell tell us, but you were already in bed; it was 7.30 and too late to go to the shop.
I went back in to where you were sitting. You jumped out of your chair and gave me a hug again. I whispered "If the teacher asks you about the gym clothes, tell her that you didn't forget to tell us but that we did not have time to buy them."
Suddenly your eyes filled with tears. You turned to the wall so that the rest of the kids wouldn't see you. I hugged you and told you that it would be all right. "Everybody goes through this. Everybody has to go to the big school."
You sat down, tears in your eyes. "I love you." I said. You nodded. "I'll be thinking about you all day." I said. You nodded. "You'll be all right." I said.
And then I left you.
After early childhood it seems like there is just a long, long, long fall.
You carefully packaged a stuffed doll, a zombie from Minecraft, in a plastic bag and put it in the backpack, alongside your slippers.
You told me that you weren't going to play with it until uschool was over and you were in Družina (a kind of after-school day-care at the school itself for working parents: it goes until three and the kids play either outside or inside when the weather is disagreeable.)
I thought to myself how in a few years you would be embarassed to bring such a toy to school. It is such a little boy's toy. But I hope that is a few year's off still.
We went down to the car with Honzik and left at about 7:40, which is when the school unlocks its front doors. It took us 8 minutes to drive to school. You and Honzik got out. I put the backpack on you. You held my hand as we walked in the door. I walked tall and confident beside you.
I noticed you had pink smudges all around your mouth, the dried encrustactions of tooth paste. I told you swipe your mouth with your sleeve. That didn't work. I told you to lick all around your mouth and try it again. Still didn't work. Finally, I had to resort to licking my finger and rubbing off the encrusted toothpaste.
"I used to hate it when my mommy did this to me", I told you. I don't think you even heard me, your mind locked in pre-school jitters.
Inside we waded through the hustle and bustle of parents (quite attractive women exchanging smiles, part of my brain noticed) and kids, to the little caged off area where you changed from your shoes ("They are almost the same as Honzik's but Honzik's are bigger!" you had told me while putting them on.
I took your coat up. The bell rang. The first bell, the warning bell. YOu did a nervous dance, shifting from foot to foot. "OOOOOhhhh!" you said. "Hurry".
"Do you have to pee?"
"No! I'm just nervous because I'm afraid I'm gonna be late."
"You won't be late. Are you sure you don't have to pee?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
I walked you to the classroom. Your place had been moved, but your name was there printed on a paper. You unzipped your backpack and got out a little notebook, then dutifully zipped it back up, walked over to the window and placed it underneath.
It was at that point you gave me a hug. A strong hug, a long hug, gripping more tightly than usual. I rubbed your shoulder.
"Everybody has to do school, bud. " I told you. "Sometimes its bad, but sometimes it's good. You'll be all right."
I left and remembered that your "homework" the day before had been to tell us to buy you gym clothes. You had remembered to tell tell us, but you were already in bed; it was 7.30 and too late to go to the shop.
I went back in to where you were sitting. You jumped out of your chair and gave me a hug again. I whispered "If the teacher asks you about the gym clothes, tell her that you didn't forget to tell us but that we did not have time to buy them."
Suddenly your eyes filled with tears. You turned to the wall so that the rest of the kids wouldn't see you. I hugged you and told you that it would be all right. "Everybody goes through this. Everybody has to go to the big school."
You sat down, tears in your eyes. "I love you." I said. You nodded. "I'll be thinking about you all day." I said. You nodded. "You'll be all right." I said.
And then I left you.
After early childhood it seems like there is just a long, long, long fall.
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