Things have obviously changed in the past 16 years. Under new parenting, the kind dictated by social media, I've learned that kindergarten registration isn't just a big deal, it's an exceptionally large deal. You dress your child up all cute and take photos with the sign and the props. You're all smiles but it's okay to simultaneously be sad inside because it's your first one to step into the world of education, or because it's your last one to leave home for that big world of kindergarten. And then, of course, you post those photos on social media because, well, that's just what we do for the class of 2031.
Let's just say I didn't expect it to be this way.
We had a rough afternoon before we even got there. I wasn't feeling the joy all the social media posts have suggested I should feel. It was more worry about what he might say or do while he was there. And why bother dressing him up cute? He's likely going to mess his pants and I'll have to change him anyway. In front of all the kindergarten teachers and other parents and kids. Some lady took him off alone but they didn't know he was visually impaired until I told them. I should have just let them figure it out on their own. A few laughs might have done me some good. Hope they didn't ask him to read letters or numbers off a page. I can assure you he failed that one. But if they asked him to name a band from the 60s he'd be all over that. The next stop is the vision screening, ma'am.
I think we'll skip that one, thank you, anyway.
But there's comfort in numbers. As we were leaving I saw another special needs mama waiting in the wings. I didn't know the floodgates were so close to unleashing until I gave her a hug. All I had to say was, "Are you finding this isn't as fun as it's supposed to be, too?" Yes, there is safety in numbers. That was definitely a divine appointment today.
I just never expected it to be like this. I should be thinking of the fun he'll have in kindergarten, the joy of new beginnings, and a future full of hope and promise. All I could think of were the words he had yelled at me all afternoon, his inability to sit or focus for a teacher, and all the real and perceived struggles we're going to have over the next 13 years.
But I couldn't today. It just wasn't there. All I could think of were the words he had yelled at me all afternoon, his inability to sit or focus for a teacher, and all the real and perceived struggles we're going to have over the next 13 years. I'm worn and I knew that. I just didn't know how worn until the reality of a kindergartner who doesn't act like a kindergartner hit me. Til I realized that any photo I would try to take would never measure up to all of the cute-dressed, smiling 4 and 5 year olds on social media. That my child doesn't look or act like any of them. That this isn't how it's supposed to be.
You can tell me that it doesn't matter. That he's fearfully and wonderfully made and that God has promised his victory. You can tell me but you don't need to. I already know that. I know that but today I can't feel that.
Maybe tomorrow.
Occasionally, weep deeply over the life that you hoped would be.
Grieve the losses. Feel the pain.
Then wash your face, trust God, and embrace the life that he's given you.
John Piper
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