Kindergarten Orientation Made Me Cry
Because It Wasn’t For My Own Kids
I remember each of my children’s Kindergarten Orientation days with such vivid clarity, you’d hardly know the youngest of them is now twenty. When each of them was headed to their first day of their senior year of high school, I even posted the photo I had taken of them at that session, because for each of them the photo was in their first classroom, holding their first backpack. My youngest son even proudly carried his Teddy Bear, Byron, tucked under his arm, not the least bit embarrassed to be taking a comfort toy along.
I didn’t cry when my kids spent a day getting acclimated to their “big-kid” school. The opposite, in fact. I was so glad to be a part of the day, making lasting memories (for me, at least) and taking pride in their burgeoning independence.
Today, though, fifteen years after my last kindergarten orientation, I happened to see a friend’s Instagram post, several lovely photos of taking his own first-born son to visit school for orientation day. The feeling was very different. This fellow and I are not close friends; he’s at least twenty years my junior, but we follow each other on social media thanks to our shared interest in running and triathlon. We’ve supported each other by cheering from the sidelines at a handful of races or offering encouraging words online. He and his wife are both athletes I admire, and I’ve had the pleasure of watching them start — and grow — their family together two decades after me.
Looking at this proud dad taking his son from classroom to cafeteria and through the hallways of the school where he will have his first joy-filled days as a kindergartener, then why did I find myself so sad? My tear-filled eyes wouldn’t stop overflowing.
It was all because he was there. Dad. It was a father-son experience and it all looked so seamless and natural. Now, I of course don’t know how many other dads were there, in comparison to moms. I’m sure there were lots and lots of moms. But it doesn’t matter. What made me so sad — maybe sad isn’t the right word — just…mournful… is that I remembered so vividly that my children over the years learned to expect that their father would never be there for orientation. Or parent-teacher conferences. Or field trip days, or assemblies, or cross-country races…
