First day of school

Last week, we were still in Italy for our annual “family tour” between Abruzzo and Liguria and it suddenly hit me. Before leaving for our vacation, I had my last few weeks with my daughter at home. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it earlier, but yeah: right after coming back, she was gonna start pre-school. Or kindergarten. Or however the hell the three-to-six thing’s called. The era of us staying together at home a lot wasn’t ending: it already ended. From now on, I was gonna get back my time. My time to work, to do stuff in the house, to — why not? — mind my own business without having part of my brain focusing on what she was doing and where she was doing it. I mean, not that it’s ever been such a huge issue, she’s been a frighteningly independent girl since day one, but still, the thought is always there. Plus, in the past year, she obviously started asking for more attention and the struggle became real.
So, that was ending. That had ended. And I guess it’s the end of a short cycle in my life. Almost three years, three amazing, maddening, tiring, madly entertaining years. And I didn’t realize it was gonna happen. When I spent my last week with her at home, I didn’t know I was spending my last week with her at home. I though, I don’t know, there was going to be another week at the beginning of September. Because of course I’m not aware of when school is starting. Such a great dad.
Anyway. That made me sad. No… not really sad, but yeah, a bit. It made me think about this:
It’s not the same thing, of course, because she’s still a little kid and what Jaffe talks about here is at least a decade in the future for me, but there’s some of it. As much as I was starting to crave this sort of return to normality, this chance to manage my days more fully, I also love so much being with her. Even the simple idea of being with her, the idea that at least one of us can be with her for most of the day, made me happy. And then being that person… wow. That’s still gonna happen, during weekends, after school and on Wednesday (yeah, French schools are closed on Wednesday), but it’s gonna be differente.
So, yeah, it’s that thing. That thing that makes you happy, because you (hopefully) are gonna be able to get part of your life back. That thing that makes you sad, because a small, beautiful portion of your life is ending. And you’re never gonna get back exactly that. You’re still gonna get a lot, so much, but that, that, those three years, they are gone. And it’s sad. But it’s great. It’s so great to see her go to school, it’s been so great seeing her so excited at the idea for the past few days, it’s been so great seiing her almost immediately comfortable in the new environment, so much that she left her Mario plush on the table and forgot about it after a few minutes.
Most of all, It’s been so great seeing her test the school toilets as the first thing she wanted to do. Good girl.
I love it. I love her. It’s so much fun. But it’s sad. I sound like a broken record, I know, but it’s really a powerful thing. It’s a thing that you can imagine, but you don’t really get until you’re in it. That thing that makes you sad and happy at the same time because your daughter is growing up and becoming someone else, something else.

Plus, there’s another small thing. Being the messy, insecure person I am, on these turning points I start looking back and I end up being overly critical of myself. Did I act the right way with her? Did we make the right choices? Is this or that way she acts sometimes because of this or that thing I did? I mean, as I said before, of course it’s because of me. She spent the first three years of her life with me, of course everything is my fault. Plus I read books, books that more or less I agree with, and that makes it harder. Because if you agree with all of the principles a book on interacting with your child is telling you, when you get to where it says something you did differently, suddenly, you feel incredibly bad.
Of course I should have done that, of course I shouldn’t have done that, what was I thinking? Well, the issue is that even if you try so hard to do all the right things, all the things you think you should do, there’s gonna be slip ups. You’re gonna do something society and upbringing teached you to do. And you won’t even realize it until later, maybe because you did it out of being really, really tired, maybe because of all the things ingrained in you by your previuous four decades of living in this world, of all those things you decided you were going to do differently, well, not everything’s going to go according to plan. More than that, there’s going to be something you didn’t think of, something you gave for granted, something you thought was OK. And then, later, you read or hear something that makes you reconsider and you realize you would have done things differently. And you didn’t. And you feel guilty.
Oh, gosh, the guilt. That’s the worst thing about being a father. The guilt. Whenever you do something you know you shouldn’t, but you cannot resist. Whenever you realize you did many times something you could have avoided. Whenever there’s that kind of “Oh gosh” moment and suddenly you start to think part of her upbringing has been ruined by your being an idiot, your not trying hard enough, your doing too little for her. It’s atrocious. And, of course, it’s not fair. As a parent, you’re bound to make mistakes, you’re bound to mess things up and, if you care, you’re bound to feel guilty. But then again, I guess being able to reflect on this, elaborate the guilt, work towards being always better, is the best you can do.
I’m trying.
