"I used to be young and cocky like these kids. Now I'm old and cocky." -Me, to My Director, as a group of graduates stood at the front of church one Sunday for a special blessing.
I have some words of wisdom to impart to the class of 2013. Because despite my receding hair line and expanding home equity line, it wasn't too long ago that I graduated from high school. Alright, so it was 1993. Two years before most of this year's graduates were even born. You happy now? I'm old. There. I said it. And I drive a minivan. Can we move on to the advice?
There is a line I write in every high-school graduation card that My Director hands me with the assignment of "be inspiring." Here it is: "Don't do anything you can't tell your mom."
Peanut's first year of Kindergarten is coming to an end soon. Another school year behind her, if you include daycare. Twelve more years to go. So many things still to come. So many more milestones and memories. Firsts and lasts. Yet, there's something else that keeps popping up in the back of my mind. It's nagging me like a piece of prosciutto stuck in my tooth. I'm worried about college. Yes, college. Specifically, paying for college It's something every parent thinks about, worries about, frets over, from almost the moment of conception. Now that Peanut's actual education is underway, I feel the savings clock is ticking. And it frightens the hell out of me.
A recent study by Fidelity Investments shows most families fall far short - not even 25% - of the money it takes to pay for their child's college education. It shows parents don't do enough to save for college, or they wait too long. I must admit that My Director and I are in the same boat. More than six years into our daughter's life, we haven't put away nearly as much as we would have hoped, or thought we would have by now. Things always come up. Bills, debt, home improvements, illnesses, job changes, a life-saving surgery for our dog. Even vacations, because sometimes you have to actually enjoy life. So the issue isn't as clear cut as the black-and-white facts and figures of a study.
I came down with a stubborn case of nostalgia this summer. Not helping matters, one night I was looking through baby pictures. (I needed one for a blog post. This post, as a matter of fact.) As I right-clicked my way through Peanut's baby years in a matter of minutes, it hit me. Where did the time go? Where did my baby go? I remember these times so vividly. I remember her so vividly. Baby Peanut. Toddler Peanut. Demon Tantrum Refuses-to-Potty-Train Peanut. Fond memories. Mostly. I tried not to break down. Like on the first day of school, I felt myself getting choked up. But I choked that shizz right back down again.
When Peanut graduated daycare, she looked so grown up standing on that stage receiving her fake diploma. As a result of that image, I decided to call the past few months "one last summer as my baby." I knew it's where I would witness some small steps, but giant leaps for Peanut-kind. And I wanted to make sure to remember them. But most important, enjoy them. I'm glad for these memories. For capturing these moments in time. And for having one last summer as my baby:
She went night swimming with her cousin and
thought it was the coolest thing ever.
"Where troubles melt like lemon drops high above the chimney tops. That's where you'll find me." -from Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Every day, I picked up Peanut from daycare. Every day, I rushed in and out of that place like a whirling dervish, loath to participate in any small talk or long discussions. Every day for years I had only minimal contact with the people who run this place. Minimal at best. Certainly not as much as they deserve. This is not because they are not worthy of my time. Quite the opposite. They are wonderful, patient, understanding, loving, caring, involved people. It’s because I am perpetually in a rush. I have dinner to prepare and a dog to walk and it’s 5:45 and we have to get home. I can’t help myself. That's just me.
So to make up for all of those times I picked her up and just said hello and goodbye with little eye contact as I was climbing, then shortly thereafter descending, the steps two at a time, I am here to say what I should have stopped to say all of these years:
Thank you.
My daughter is happy. She is well-behaved. She is bright, observant, and clever. She is funny and friendly. A lot of that is nature. A lot of that is parenting. (Thank you very much.) But so much of that is you.
We moved here when she was one and a half years old. Took her from the only home and only daycare she had ever known, and she didn’t miss a beat. And that IS you.
You treated her not as a student, but as a child. Your child. You made her feel at home. You eased every fear or concern we’ve ever had from day one.
Sometimes you knew Peanut better than we did. Once she had been giving My Director a difficult time during the morning routine for a few days in a row. (I’m already at work when this is going on at 7am.) She was saying things like, “I don’t want to go to school.” When My Director asked her why she’d answer, “Because the boys aren’t being nice.”
First, I was surprised. (She’s always been friends with those boys.) Then, I was protective. (I’ll beat those boys to a pulp.) Finally, I was constructive. (I’ll ask her teacher what’s up.)
So on one of the rare occasions where I took the time to have an actual conversation with someone during pickup, I asked the teacher on the playground if Peanut ever seems unhappy, if she ever complains, or if she notices her ever getting a hard time from the boys.
“Are you kidding me?” She answered. “(Peanut) puts them in their place. If they mess with her she says, ‘Oh, no you don’t.’” (That's what I thought.) “She’s fine," she continued. "You’ll never have to worry about her getting pushed around.” THAT’s my girl.
"So what you're saying is, she's playing us?" I countered.
"You got that right."
Of course she is.
As a newish dad, what it took me a while to realize about daycare is that it’s not just a place you pay to watch your child. It’s much more than that. It’s people you trust to help your child grow. To help her succeed. People who potty trained her. (Because she just would NOT go for us.) People who cared for her when she was sick. (Because it takes a while to get home from the city after you’ve received THAT phone call.) People who showed her love, not anger, when she did something wrong. (Because they knew she was sorry.)
People who became her family, a part of our family. People who we talk about around the dinner table. People she looks up to. People she loves.
This week, Peanut walked out of her daycare for the last time. It was a milestone. A sad one. It's hard to believe that this place that has been so much a part of our every day lives will suddenly fade into the sunset of our memories.
Walking through the door
one last time
All of the good times, the sick days, the friends we all made, all because of this place. Now as we count down to Kindergarten, I realize she is ready and confident to take that step because of them. So there is one thing that I want to say to the people who have meant so much over the past four years. It doesn’t seem like nearly enough, but it is sincere from someone who wishes he had said it a lot more:
“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.” -Dr. Seuss, Oh the Places You'll Go!
Now that Peanut is kicking the comfort of daycare off her shoes and heading into Kindergarten in the fall; now that she's participated in the emotional, adorable "stepping up" ceremony that had my face soaked with snot and tears, causing me to lose all of my street cred as a stoic, stone-faced sarcastic dad; now that all of that is behind us and we are looking forward to the rest of her academic career, I have some words of wisdom to impart on Peanut and her pint-sized classmates.
First: Learn to read. You're not going to get anywhere in life having other people read things to you. It's embarrassing, really. Grab a book, sound out the words, and string a sentence together. Educate yourself. Stop relying on other people - mainly, your parents - to read to you. It's lazy. (Actually, you're so close it's scary.)
While we're on the subject of parental dependency, that brings me to my second point: your mommy and daddy aren't always going to be there to help you. Cut your own meat. Blow your own nose. Wipe your own butt. Have some dignity. When you get older, and you ask someone for a favor that you're perfectly capable of doing yourself, and they respond with, "You want me to wipe your butt for you too?" You'll know what I'm talking about. Cut the cord.
That leads perfectly to number three on my list: entitlement. You are not entitled to a snack, a nap, or dessert. You don't get a toy every time we go shopping somewhere. These things are rewards and they are earned. You work hard, you play hard, you follow the rules, you be kind to others, you reap the benefits. Do those things, and you get a bowl of ice cream. Do those things and I'll get you that Rapunzel pez dispenser you've had your eye on.
Number four: if you don't do those things, you don't get a reward. And you definitely don't cry to get your way. Do you think that's how people act in the real world? In Kindergarten? This is the big leagues. Shape up. Crying because you want to read a different book than we picked? Or because you wanted to be the one who opened the door when we got home? Or because we didn't let you play a ninth round of hide-and-seek before bed? That's immature and unacceptable. Suck it up. Choke back those tears. As The Rolling Stones say, you can't always get what you want. And as Frank Sinatra says, that's life. Sometimes it's not fair. You cooperate and coexist. Deal with it and move on.
Finally: grow up. Everything is not a game. Or a joke. On second thought...who am I kidding? I still make a game or a joke out of almost everything. It's why you're so funny. (That and your mom serves a great 'straight man.') But if you do everything else on my list, you can get away with the occasional - or not-so-occasional - nonsense. People will take you seriously when it matters if you lead by example. Show that you're smart, capable, independent, hard-working, fair, dependable, and realistic. You'll have yourself allies. More important, you'll have yourself friends. Friends you can joke with. Friends you can be silly with. Friends for life.
You stood up there on stage at your Pre-K Stepping Up ceremony. You walked up to the microphone with a big smile. You grabbed it, leaned in, and said confidently and excitedly that your favorite thing about Pre-K was "being with your friends." You can tell a lot about a person by the quality of their friends. Keep surrounding yourself with good people. They will help you. They will love you. They won't judge you. They'll make you laugh in the good times. They'll make you laugh until you cry in the bad times. No person is poor who has friends.
That makes you one of the richest kids I know. Keep doing what you're doing, Peanut. I'll always be here to guide you along.
Kindergarten here we come. But first, one last summer as my baby.
Here is the video of Peanut saying what her favorite thing about Pre-K is. (If you listen closely you can hear a proud dad's reaction):
