This morning, I waved goodbye to my five-year-old as he boarded the bus for his third day of kindergarten. Watching it pull away, I felt a lump rise in my throat; a piece of my heart was now on that bus, heading off into the unknown.
My son, Lucas, celebrated his fifth birthday on December 14, 2012—the same day that twenty innocent children boarded a bus to what should have been just another day at school, but tragically, they never returned home. As we send our little ones off to school this fall, the events in Newtown weigh heavily on my mind.
I can’t shake the image of those eager young faces and the families left with unbearable heartache. While I focus on my own child, I can’t help but feel the void left in a world dimmed by loss. On his second day of school, Lucas excitedly told me about his favorite part: gym class, which he described as “awesome.” But then he mentioned they practiced something called a lockdown drill. They locked the doors, turned off the lights, and pulled down the shades, learning how to hide under their desks if a bad stranger were to enter the school. Hearing that, a piece of my heart shattered.
In 2013, this is what kindergarten entails: gym class and lockdown drills. I am proud of how Lucas’s school approached this sensitive topic, explaining it in a way that a child could understand. Yet, it is disheartening to realize that this is an essential lesson in today’s world, where safety concerns have taken precedence over innocence.
When Lucas asked me if a bad stranger would come for him, I felt compelled to provide reassurance, despite knowing the truth. “Your school is safe. All the doors are locked,” I told him, hoping to shield him from fear. He then asked, “But what if the bad stranger breaks down the doors?” I lied again, “That will never happen.” The reality, of course, is that we all know better; we all understand the potential dangers. Sometimes, however, a little white lie feels like the best option.
I remember my own kindergarten classroom vividly: a giant playhouse in the center, learning the Pledge of Allegiance, and an environment filled with joy. That simplicity feels like a distant memory. Preparing our children for the modern world requires navigating complex emotional and safety issues that didn’t exist in the past.
Today’s children are aware of far more than I could have imagined at their age. Even as an adult, I wish I could believe that there are no threats out there. I often fantasize about shutting the world out—turning off the lights, locking the doors, and hiding under the furniture with my children, if only for a moment, to feel a sense of control. But reality has a way of breaking through that illusion.
As the school year begins, I must accept that my love for Lucas is as deep as my helplessness to control what lies ahead. I catch sight of his bus rounding the corner, his smile lighting up my day. For now, that piece of my heart is whole and safe, at least for a little while longer.
This article was originally published on Sep. 5, 2013.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the bittersweet experience of sending a child to kindergarten, particularly in light of contemporary safety concerns. The author grapples with the loss of innocence and the necessity of preparing children for an increasingly complex world, while also cherishing the small moments of joy that school brings.