When my only child went to his first day of kindergarten, I went to work with light tears in my eyes and a couple of sniffles.  My supervisor was very understanding and claimed I would cry on one other day of his life:  when he starts high school.
She was right.

I drove him to the first day of Freshmen Orientation at the local technical school, where he would go through testing to help him choose his academic career.  After arriving at the Performing Arts Center of the school, we sat in the car, waiting.  For what I was not sure.  The Boy seemed a little nervous, for he was quiet.  We listened to music of his choice and made some small talk.  I gave him advice about being honest on the testing to help place him in the best program.

Then he spotted a friend.  “Kyle’s here! Bye, Mom!”   And just like that, he was out of the car, walking towards his first day of high school.

In that moment, I froze and looked up his fading figure.  With much difficulty, I put my hands on the Beetle’s steering wheel.  Blinking away tears once again, I left.

Two weeks later, I find myself a soccer mom once again, treating uniforms for grass and dirt stains and washing them every couple of nights.  The Mister and I attended a high school football game for the first time in 20 years, not to enjoy the sport itself, but to watch our son pound away on the drum set in the pep band.  We spoke to the band instructor to offer our support with fundraising to the sadly under-funded band program.  We will be going to Parent Night and learn how to be more supportive.

I truly believe that we parents are more stressed out about the Boy starting high school that the Boy was.

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