Grab That White Bag.
The night before Dylan’s first day of private school, I stayed awake too late – like I always do when I am stressed, and like I did last week before Shane’s first day of school. I woke in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep, worried that the alarm wouldn’t wake me, worried that Dylan wouldn’t get up in time, worried that Shane would be lonely while I made the trek to the new school.
So much for my “faith versus fear” lesson.
When the alarm did wake me, and Dylan wandered in to use my hairbrush a few minutes later, I knew we were all ready to go. (Except that Dylan admitted that he hasn’t seen his own hairbrush for three weeks.)
School supplies had been ordered and packed weeks earlier. Dylan had an enormous, stuffed-full, very heavy backpack. In addition, we had a bag full of classroom supplies to donate.
“Grab that white bag,” I told him, “and put it in the car, too.”
Four-course breakfast in hand(s), we clamored into the car for our 45-minute drive. I started the car and turned my head to back up.
There, in the backseat, were two bed pillows in a huge white trash bag.
“Why are the pillows for the dog shelter in here?” I asked Dylan.
“You told me to get the white bag,” he said.
“Not that white bag,” I said, putting the car into park. I went back inside and got the bag with the paper towels and hand soap from the school supply list.
“This white bag,” I said.
“Oh,” Dylan said. “That’s a lot more logical.”
I briefly considered what people would think if Dylan showed up for his first day of private school with two ratty bed pillows. I had to smile.
Correct bag in tow, we talked about his day – where he should go when he got out of the car, for example, and how to smile when he meets a new friend.
Please smile, I thought. He smiled for the first 12 years of his life, beautifully and quite naturally. Then he stopped.
“And if it makes you feel less awkward,” I said, “you can take the stuff out of the white bag and just carry it in.” We were both anxious about him lumbering through the door with his 12-ton backpack and carrying an additional bag of supplies.
But when we pulled up to the curb – on time! – we saw a dozen other kids going into school. And every, single one of them had a 12-ton backpack and a white bag.
I’m not sure what was in the other white bags. Maybe they were carrying gym clothes, or even lunch. We could have speculated, but we didn’t. It probably didn’t matter all that much.
At that moment, the only thing that mattered is that Dylan fit right in.