There Goes My Baby.
Shane’s high school orientation was rough – for me.
As always when I’m stressed, I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t get to sleep until after midnight, and I needed to get up at dawn. Then I woke up at least five times during the night, tossing and turning and pulling my covers every which way, trying to get some rest, knowing it would be impossible.
I wasn’t afraid that Shane would have a good day. I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up in time to get him to orientation.
Of course, I had no trouble – having been up all night – getting up. I stood up and opened my curtains – and they fell right off the wall. I threw them on the bed and found Bill to complain. (This is how I handle most problems.)
Then I went to pick up the laundry that Dylan was supposed to fold the night before. He had folded exactly half of what he was supposed to fold. I spent the next ten minutes folding a load of laundry.
Eventually, I got downstairs. Shane was ready to go – showered and dressed – but I still had to make his breakfast. It was supposed to be special, except that I had to fold laundry and was therefore late. I got it ready quickly.
Shane had decided not to take a binder or a backpack to school. I talked him into taking a pad of paper and pencil, so he had something on which to doodle if he got bored. Then, somehow, I also talked him into a folder – which was tucked away upstairs. So I spent another few minutes trying to find the old school supplies.
We left on time, in spite of everything, and Shane was in good spirits. At the last second, I decided to take a back road, and I’m not sure it was a wise choice. We were three minutes late – and also, we were 12 minutes early.
Having been to the high school many, many times since Dylan is a student there already, it felt comfortable and easy pulling up to the school – but I suddenly realized that I had no idea where Shane should go. There were hordes of freshmen standing outside, and I didn’t know if he should stand outside or go in.
I saw a few kids go in quietly, and suggested he do that – but he headed for the hordes. He thought that’s where everyone was, and I could understand his perception.
In my rearview mirror, I watched Shane walking, with his carefully selected folder and newly sharpened pencil, toward that group of loud, gangly students. I wanted him to be happy, to be included, to be okay.
Then, quite suddenly, it hit me: There goes my baby, I thought. My baby is in high school.
And I wanted to pull over to the side of the road and cry.