I remember her first day of first grade. She wanted to make an impression that day–she wanted to wear her “gold” boots, they were a size too big but she was very proud of them.
We all walked her to school that morning. Her aunt got her a backpack, a huge backpack with a garish purple (of course) design, her initials stitched in. She was so proud, so bold, she spoke in such platitudes of all the things she was planning on accomplishing. Annie and I smiled, held hands (for a couple seconds…we’re not hand-holders) and watched her with her oversized gold boots and that giant backpack bouncing along.
Then we entered the building.
“So Lyd? Where’s your classroom?”
“Uhm.” I saw a little crack in her veneer. A tiny piece of her “bold” just fell off, one finger touching her lip, the other pointing as she began pivoting.
“Psst.” She looked up at me, “Let’s try this way.”
“Oh yeah…right.” Her self-deprecating chuckle didn’t fool us, but we said nothing.
She shot ahead of us, much more certain of where her room was. The hallway however, was a chest deep sea of chaos. Lydia suddenly looked tiny to me. I really wanted to go all helicopter parent on her, but I didn’t. The bold was now falling off steadily, I could follow a meandering trail of the stuff. The last little bit fell off about twenty feet from her classroom, she was only carried by her own momentum by then.
Her mouth was hanging open, her wide-open eyes darted everywhere. She managed to collect herself enough to find the locker labelled with her name and hang her backpack.
She was now at a loss. Her room was at the end of a hallway, so while she was out of the main river, she was getting trapped in swirling eddies of youth.
I know Hun, this was so much easier when we did our tour last week in an emptier and quieter building.
Familiar faces popped up here and there, I could see her relaxing a little. Her play instinct was kicking in.
She smiled at us, a genuine and happy smile, but still nervous. She would smile for a picture, but she was barely able to focus on the camera, too much happening everywhere. Her teacher appeared and with one or two statements had the children filing in past her into the room. Lyd slipped out of her little eddy and began making her way in, she nearly forgot to say bye to us. She was ready and we were beginning to linger too long. I poked Annie. “It’s time Hun.” Annie dabbed up a tear and smiled. Our little one just flapped her wings and for the first time she was beginning to feel breeze under them.
I turned to her classroom,
“Lyd?”
“Yeah?”
“We Love you!”
“Oh yeah!” She scampered out of the room, jumped and gave us both warm hugs and kisses “Love you too!” and she ran back in, she ran away from us.
Shine on little one.

Today is her last day of school. What the heck happened over the last several months?
She can read, proficiently and with great enthusiasm. She reads everything, sometimes things that aren’t any of her business.
“Daddy! I did the monkey bars all by myself!”
“Daddy! I held my breath and went under the water! I can jump in too! I’m not scared to go under the water!”
“I want to learn everything about owls.”
“I want to study the Sphynx.”
“I want to study Gila Monsters.”
“I want to be an inventor!” If I had a dollar for every crayon drawn invention that was explained to me I could pay for the engineering degree she would need to become an inventor. Sure, I was impressed with her drawing, but it was her wide-eyed enthusiastic expression that had me enthralled.
“Mommy leaves wonderful messages in my lunchbox, you left a note that was folded a million times and was in two envelopes.” Ha! I nearly forgot about that one!
She’s made friends who (especially in our small town) will probably be friends for life.
Her lima bean shaped torso had stretched, her limbs grew a little longer. She is beginning to look more foal-like.
Now that I mentioned that…she looks so tall these days! She looks so independent, so not-in-need of us. She doesn’t really want, and she certainly does not need me to walk her up to the doors of her school any more.
These days, we’re easily three hundred feet away from the front doors before I give her a kiss for the day.
I still need to watch her until she disappears into the building. I need to save all those images.
I know Hun, you don’t need me. I know you’re fine. I also know that someday your heart’s going to be broken, my chest will always have a spot for you to press your ear up against.
I see her after school, building a Lego world, I see her playing with her dollhouse. I see her scamper into the kitchen to tell Annie something very important (I’m guessing that one troublemaker stepped out of the lunch line and then cut back in again) and I always note how she still has to look up to talk to us.
Yeah, she’s still my little girl.

Last week a newer tradition happened in Lydia’s school, it was the “Senior March”. Lydia and all her classmates line up along the halls of their school and they watch a parade of this year’s graduating seniors, all wearing their caps and robes. It’s really a beautiful event. It brings the student community together. The seniors get to have one last walk through the building where it all started for them. It’s an inspiration for the youngsters. It’s inclusive, it makes them a part of the graduation celebration as well. It’s a reminder that if they apply themselves and take advantage of everything that is being offered to them, then one day they too will be graduating. They too will be wearing those robes, parading through the elementary school, high-fiving a couple hundred awe-inspired kids.
Lydia brought home a shirt that week, “Class of 2028” was emblazoned on the back.
Are you kidding me? Eleven years? Eleven short years? I only have one hundred and thirty some-odd months left with her before she considers a genuine leap from our nest? The breeze she feels under her wings now, will be an undeniable gale by then. Will I be ready to let go?
In eleven years, I’m supposed to suffer through the honor of watching a young lady wearing a robe and cap accept a diploma? Will I see a young lady, or will I see a little girl running across the playground with that giant backpack, smiling at me with her arms wide open?
She’s upstairs sleeping right now, there was a book on her chest when I peeked in last night, there was one little foot peeking out from under her bedsheets. She’s dreaming. She’s dreaming about puppies and princesses and romantic things and being able to converse with animals. She is blissfully unaware how close she is to getting swept out of bed and getting a bear hug.