The Exhausted Dad: Measuring parenthood via first days of school
To my recollection, I shed tears on three different first days of school as a parent.
The first: Before she even turned 1 year old, I dropped my then-only child off for day care. I had a friend working at the facility who spent regular time with my daughter, and yet, I felt petrified at the prospect of leaving her in a strange place with strange people.
I started a job (not at this newspaper) that required me to be on site, and at the time my wife had already gone back to work full time. The cost of day care just about matched the amount of income I’d be making at this onsite work. Still, I thought I “needed to work” because that’s what other dads did.
After I dropped her off, I slobber-cried all the way to my new office, then tried to avoid eye contact with everyone so nobody would see my puffy red face.
My daughter lasted about four weeks at (part-time) day care, the same amount of time I lasted at that job before I quit it to become a stay-at-home dad. Best decision I ever made (assisted by the prospect of additional work I could do from home via this newspaper. Thanks, Coeur d’Alene Press!).
The second time I cried on the first day of school came when that same daughter started kindergarten. At that point, I had two other, smaller kids at home, so I didn’t have much brain space to worry about whether I should worry about how my daughter would react to the strange new world of elementary school. Anyway, she logged some preschool hours the year before away from home and she loved every second of her time away from her overprotective dad.
Yet, I cried on that first morning when she sprinted to get in line with the other kindergartners outside her new classroom. She might as well have graduated high school, moved out the house and took a job on the other side of the country. My baby was grown up, and soon my other two babies would follow suit and abandon me as well.
Her kindergarten teacher let parents walk into the classroom on the first day for pictures but then asked for us to quietly leave during their first circle time. I lingered in the back, holding in all the tears while my daughter happily ignored me and engaged with the class. I was one of the last parents to slip out of the room, and I cried all the way home.
The third and final time I cried on the first day of school was during my youngest son’s first day of kindergarten. He had been so nervous to go in person, and because of the pandemic, we opted for online preschool programs prior to that year. The first day of kindergarten was basically going to be his first full day away from me, give or take a few grandparent visits and date nights.
I didn’t have other small children at home to make me feel like a young parent anymore. All four of my kids were in school, and my oldest had just started middle school. Basically, all grown up! Even worse, I also went back to school for a program in which I’d be the old guy in a room full of people closer in age to my daughter than to myself.
My son ran off onto the playground on that first day, seemingly OK with the prospect of tackling life without his dad by his side. I kept my tears in as I walked back to the car, then let it all out again. My baby was in school. All my babies were in school. I’m old.
This year, I dropped my kids for the first day of school without much incident. My oldest began eighth grade, and by the time she reaches high school, I’ll be finished with my program too. My baby boy walks around the second grade like he owns the entire school. He didn’t even look back at me when he ran off to find his friends on the playground.
While this year was relatively calm, I have a feeling more tears will come as time slips away again.
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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer, full-time student and parent to four kids, ages 7-13. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.
