Chloe entered first grade this school year. It's a big school. From her pre-school class of only 8 kids, they're now 33. I shudder to think of the noise level they can generate. And because I thought it was fashionable to display some separation anxiety, I took a leave from work on her first day of class. Heck, I even took her picture at 6:00 am and posted it on Facebook.
I went with the school bus and delivered her to her classroom, counting the things she brought and counting the little kids who were already crying in the room. I didn't see if she joined in the tearful getting-to-know-each-other session because the teacher made us parents leave. I joined the other parents milling in the grade school lobby-- there must be about 3 dozen of us-- and took comfort in the fact that they all looked as worried as I was.
That was when I realized that I had labeled all of Chloe's things: her pencils, bags, water bottle, notebooks, but I forgot to label her. She would not lose her school things but she could lose herself. I freaked out. Chloe is trained not to speak to strangers, and so I was sure she would not say her name even if somebody asked, but little kids often display a tendency to trust grown-ups if they seemed kind or acted authoritatively. I thought it was so easy for someone to get inside the grade school building, pretend to be a parent, and get a small child from the classroom. Sure, there was a guard at the entrance to prevent unaccompanied kids from getting out, but would he stop an adult with a kid in tow?
I had to call my husband. He suggested I calm down and go home, and just wait for the school bus to bring the kid after school. I did. I attacked the laundry, ironed clothes, rearranged my study, all the while wondering if Chloe ate her lunch, if she cried, if she'd made friends, if she'd agree to go to school the following day. And yes, I wondered what I'd do if the school bus didn't come. Then I waited for 4:00 pm, calling the school bus monitor twice to make sure they got my daughter from class (well, she had no ID yet, remember?).
Chloe arrived, disheveled and hair undone. Her face was blotched from crying. Her lunch bag looked like the victim of a bear attack. Privately I wondered if it was too soon for her to go to a big school, but for now, she was home.
"Chloe," I asked, "did you cry in school?"
"Yes," she said.
"Did you sleep?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to school again tomorrow?"
"NONONO."
There is no tuition refund. I'll just remember the name tag.
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