Everything Was A Little Surreal.
I texted Shane when I heard the news: “I’m coming to pick you up,” I said. “Don’t take the bus home.”
Then, as usual, I panicked a little when the crowds started pouring out of the school because I was afraid he’d get on the bus anyway. It’s hard to catch one kid out of 1,500 in the four minutes it takes to fill all those buses.
And on this day, quite suddenly, the buses weren’t safe. They were shutting down the school. Some sort of contagion was spreading, and I sure didn’t want my son to catch it.
My self-described germaphobe friend was two cars away, picking up her son. We commiserated from a safe distance.
“I hope to see you soon!” I said.
“It doesn’t sound good, but I hope so!” she said.
Shane, always vigilant with checking texts, showed up at the car and tossed his backpack into the back. Then he hopped into the front seat, and we chatted – like always – all the way home. It was sad that they didn’t have play rehearsal, we agreed. They might not do the spring musical until later in the year.
We talked about his day. He was smiling. We were both smiling. Everything was a little surreal.
And then it got worse. And worse. Then better. Then worse. And next thing we knew, Shane hadn’t been at school for 18 months. A year and a half of his life passed, with 11th grade completely online.
We all know how this went: everyone was terrified. Then it got worse. Those of us who pray? We prayed a lot. We prayed for the health of our families, some form of relief, safety for our loved ones, some hope that this pandemic might end. We prayed for our sanity and our children. We prayed for a vaccine.
And then the vaccine came, and we allowed ourselves to hope again.
Those of us who’d been educated sufficiently in science and current events recognized the way out; we raced to get the vaccine. Others stayed at home, too afraid to do the one thing that would offer them freedom. And we all paid for their fear, so that now we all have to be afraid again.
But my family is vaccinated, and that makes my son a little less afraid. And my son is vaccinated, which makes my family less afraid.
So today Shane returns to school.
And the oddest thing is: I’m not driving him there. Shane is driving himself. Because during the pandemic, he learned to drive. It was one of the few things he could actually do. He was bored, so we signed him up for the required class. And he did it well. He got his license less than a year after his first romp around a parking lot.
I didn’t realize when I picked up Shane in March of 2020 that it would be the last time I would wait for him in the parking lot. And that Friday morning, I had no idea it would be the last time I would ever drive my son to school, kiss him on the head, and watch him walk inside.
I suppose it’s a mixed blessing that I didn’t know because honestly, I don’t think I could have survived the knowing.
Today my baby drives himself to his first day of his senior year. And I think that means, officially: my baby is not a baby anymore.