For the first time in 17 years, I find myself not shopping for school supplies. No need for graphing calculators or the nostalgic Crayola 64 box with a built-in sharpener. There will be no matching 1-inch notebooks, no extra-long twin sheets, and certainly no gym shorts in school colors.
Recently, while returning an item to a local store, I noticed a young woman and her mother ahead of me at the checkout. Both wore shirts emblazoned with their university’s colors. The daughter clutched a shopping list, while her mother maneuvered a cart overflowing with all the essentials for college freshmen.
The Rhythm of the School Calendar
My life has been organized around the rhythm of the school calendar, particularly the late summer sound of school bells. Growing up with two teacher parents, the excitement for school started weeks in advance. “When you turn five,” they would say, “you get to start school.” On my fifth birthday, I learned that I had to wait six more weeks, and I was furious. Dressed in my new red gingham dress, I threw quite a tantrum. My father took me to the nearby elementary school, pointing out the empty playground and bike racks. “See? No kids yet.” I was convinced I had been deceived and had to wait longer for this momentous occasion.
Each year, I carried that same eagerness for school—anticipation of new friends, fresh outfits, and exciting activities, though the actual schoolwork was less appealing. Isn’t enthusiasm half the battle?
Watching My Son Grow
When our son entered kindergarten, I had to restrain myself from chasing the bus down the street. How would he manage the vast hallways of Chandler Elementary? Half of his day was spent with typically developing peers, while the other half was in developmental kindergarten. I worried about lunchtime—could he carry his own tray? The urge to monitor him throughout the day was strong, but I feared being apprehended for trespassing on school grounds.
Over time, things became easier. By second grade, he was in a mainstream classroom, and by high school, he had become quite independent, driving himself to school during his final two years. Like many parents, we captured first-day-of-school photos by the front door. Looking back, I noticed his growing disdain in those pictures; by senior year, his expression seemed to scream, “Mom, do I have to do this again?” as he dashed out the door.
The Bittersweet College Drop-Off
Then came the college drop-off. The anxiety was palpable for all involved. As we walked him halfway to the parking garage, he posed for a photo at the university entrance. I lingered for one last hug, until my husband gently reminded me that we really had to go. He felt the same reluctance, but remained composed.
As we drove away from the city toward Indiana, silence enveloped us for hours. A few tears were shed that day. The chaos that accompanies each school year may seem burdensome, yet it is fleeting and worth cherishing.
Embracing Empty Nesting
Now, we are navigating a new chapter as empty nesters, embracing the quiet of our home. We miss our son every day, but he is thriving in his own life. As silly as it sounds, I often think of an episode of The Andy Griffith Show where Opie releases baby birds he’s been caring for. He tells his father he misses them, to which Andy responds, “Look how full the trees are.”
Cherish those baby birds and appreciate the fullness around you.
Conclusion
In summary, the journey through parenting and school years transforms us all. From the excitement of starting kindergarten to the bittersweet feelings of dropping our children off at college, each moment is precious and fleeting. Embracing this transition into empty nesting can be challenging, yet it allows for reflection and appreciation of the past.
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