As we pulled into the lot for Tori’s new school yesterday, my heart sank into the ground. It was just so BIG.
Normal people handle their kids going off to kindergarten with grace, don’t they? Not me. I sat through the whole meeting with Tori’s new teacher (who is just a total gem, by the way) with my heart racing, my hands shaking, and the vague sense that a panic attack wasn’t too far off.
I kept my shit together during the meeting, thankfully, only falling mildly apart quietly to Charlie once we got back to the car and Tori was happily listening to music in the back.
I don’t have an explanation; my personal school experience had its trauma but they didn’t come at the start of school, and generally I loved school, even in high school when I skipped a lot and didn’t participate much. I ran into some issues in first grade because I could read (chapter books; yeah, the teacher didn’t quite know what to do with me, so they eventually put me in second grade).
Mostly, I think, I have this (rather foolish) overwhelming sense that I’m pushing Tori into a giant machine, ala the sausage grinder in Another Brick In The Wall by Pink Floyd.
I KNOW. Public education is awesome. I’m an asshole. But I can’t get past the vague sense that I’m making sausage out of my precious, precious snowflake by sending her there.
It doesn’t help that I feel like it’s a lot for her to do at once; start riding a bus to school, wear a uniform, eat in a cafeteria, be in a class of 25 – it’s a lot, right? GAH.
Tori, by the way, claims to be thrilled. Although she has some signs of anxiety, like a nervous belly, she mostly seems thrilled. She loved the teacher, liked the classroom, and is content with her uniforms. So really I’m the nervous one here. So tell me; how much of a freak am I? You all manage to send your kids off with nary a whimper, right? So it’s just me. Damn.