Am I a heartless guttersnipe or what?

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Grade School: An Age-Old Tradition

 
My dad used to call my baby brother The Last of the Mohicans and today, for some reason, I keep wanting to call my little guy that, too.

So anyways-- The Last of My Mohicans started First Grade today and while it is a big day for him and for me, I do not find myself needing to cry. All I keep thinking about is how this step is going to help him to learn and grow. He will begin to see what life is really like and be able to make something of himself. He will learn how to be an independent, intelligent individual. There are friends to be made, words to be written, numbers to be manipulated, and adventures of all sorts to be had. I cannot fathom being sad for this event.

That said, I attest to the fact that I stuck out like a sore thumb with all the other parents being melancholy around me. I gave one friend a hug, but for some reason I didn't even have much consolatory feeling in me. One of my friends even asked me how do I do it--how do I not want to cry? I really do not know. Maybe it's because the divorce has given me something more devastating to focus my tears on for so long that this feels like a joyous occasion in comparison? Maybe I have become hardened emotionally by all the events of the past several years? I have sent three other monkeys off to first grade, so maybe that's it? Maybe I'm used to it a bit. I really can't say. But, I'd like to think that my gladness for my little son, and for all of my children starting back to school, springs from my mother's heart that only wishes them to reach their potential as contributing members of society (and for them to stop kicking, scratching, quarreling, mocking, and bugging the living garbage out of one another every waking moment of every single day since school let out for summer).

If that makes me a heartless guttersnipe of a mom, so be it.

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