You are brave. Have I told you that? I’m not sure that at five years old you completely grasp the significance of bravery, and yet you embody it in a seemingly inherent way.
Today was your first day of kindergarten, and you’ve had a lot of changes in the past few months leading up to this day. You left behind your former school of two years, the quaint little private school where we never had to wait in pick up lines and often lounged in the reading nook after class reading Dora the Explorer countless times. While you were excited at the prospect of going to school with your big brother, I could tell you always thought of the new school as his school while the former school was your school. You were losing not just your familiar friends and teachers but also a little piece of your identity.
Shortly after summer break started, we bought your first pair of glasses. For a little girl who is very particular about her appearance, favoring dresses and sparkly ballet flats (only because I won’t let you wear high heels yet) over jeans and sneakers, glasses added a new complexity to what you perceived as girly and attractive. You didn’t want to wear them, even though they were pink Hello Kitty frames. Or rather, you didn’t want others to see you wearing them. And yet you carried on, doing as you were told to do. You wore your glasses and faced the uncertainty of other’s reactions head-on. It might not seem like a big deal to someone on the outside - look at how many people wear glasses these days – and yet I recognize the courage it took for you to step out of your comfort zone, to be the only one in our immediate family with frames around her beautiful, courageous yet vulnerable eyes.
But as if that wasn’t enough, you lost your first tooth a couple of weeks ago (but you didn't just lose it - you tired of waiting and pulled it out). Now you have an adorable gap in your mouth, just in time for school. While everyone loves a toothless grin, it was one more change, another way that you felt different. And as much as you begged, I couldn’t put the tooth back in your mouth. So you’ve done what you’ve always done since you were a baby: you faced your frustration, refused to let it stop you from living your life to its fullest (because you, my amazing child, know how to live large), and you soldiered on.
Now, back to your first day: you ran through the house last night shrieking with laughter at the excitement of what was to come. The wiggles kept you from falling asleep and had you up at 3:30am. (You never did fall back asleep.) You were all smiles, as usual. And then we walked into your classroom at 8:00am this morning. Found your desk. Dropped off your pink sequined backpack. And the look on your face shattered my heart into a million little pieces. Kids have a way of a doing that to their parents, and you, my precious, are most definitely not an exception. Your little lips were clenched together, not smiling but refusing to quiver. Underneath your pink Hello Kitty glasses, your big brown eyes were puffy and pink as they fought to contain the tears that only a parent knows exist. Daddy and I gave you hugs, told you we loved you and offered whatever encouraging words we could think of to mask the emotions we didn’t want to display. You nodded your head, turned your eyes to your teacher, and tackled the uncertain world of kindergarten with a bravery that will offer no limits in life.
I can’t wait to pick you up from school. I can’t wait to see your smile, to hug you and kiss the top of your head, to hold your soft, small hand in mine as we walk to the car and hear about your first day. I can’t wait, I miss you so much! But I have to wait. Just a few more hours. I need to be brave just like you. So for now I’m going to imagine your sweet, perfect little face full of toothless smiles and wide-eyed, Hello Kitty-framed wonder, living the kindergarten life to its fullest.
I love you always and forever, infinitely and unconditionally. Thank you for teaching me what it means to be brave.
Mommy