School daze

 

I hear the school buses coming as I sit here every morning drinking my coffee and playing Wordle or Words With Friends and I look out my window.

My neighborhood is diverse. We have all sorts of ethnic backgrounds here and they have a fair choice of elementary schools to go to from private parochial, to university, to one of two public districts depending upon their needs.

I remember what it was like sending my child to school on a bus the first time. I wanted it to be a wonderful experience for her. It tugged at my heart just to see her leave home, but I knew she would be fine. 

I see the young parents around me doing this same thing and they tug at my heart too. English is not always their first language. They know their child may face things mine never did simply because of the color of their skin. Our customs are not always the same, but our hearts are.

I wonder what it would be like to be in a different country where everyone around me spoke another language, where I didn't really know the neighbors well enough to ask the important questions about bus stops and schools and how important it was to buy the right brand of school supplies or backpacks, or even shoes. These things seem so unimportant unless you are a child going out on your own for the first time.  Even the food at lunch time may be strange if you don't take your own.

So I watch these people from my window. The eager faces of children heading off to kindergarten and their parents lurking behind garage doors, watching to make sure they got on the bus, then stepping out to blow a kiss as the bus finally drives off, their child safely inside and on his own for the next six hours.