The Exhausted Dad: Incoming high school anxieties
I’m not ready to be a parent of a high schooler.
My 13-year-old daughter becomes a freshman next year, and her school already hosted a “preview” night for incoming students. My daughter, nervous about the event, tried to recruit one of her friends to go with her to share moral support. When her friend wimped out, my wife and I agreed to take her and, sigh, participate like supportive parents.
Yes, the preview was intended for parents as well, and my wife always planned to scope out the parent-centric offerings.
I, however, never planned to go. Because A. I don’t like crowded spaces, and B. I don’t like attending optional events with crowds of people. It’s March! She’s not going to high school until September! I’ll go for a required conference or to support her for an extracurricular activity next year, but since she’s not in high school yet, I shouldn’t have to participate!
I went anyway, which shows you how much I love my daughter. I did not enjoy the experience. Turns out, 20 years later, I still feel the same about high school.
As we entered the common area, I suddenly wished we still lived during COVID times with social distancing and capacity limits. Too many people! What happened to my Circle of Safety?
The room was filled with booths for various student activities and clubs, and of course, the ones that implicated my daughter (band and marching band) were positioned all the way in the back of the room. Hundreds of teenagers and parents blocked my core objective: Awkwardly shake the band teacher’s hand, collect a few informational handouts then get the (expletive deleted) out of there.
Did we really need these handouts? I’m sure the class website will outline everything we need to know, and I can email the band teacher some nonsense, “My daughter is really looking forward to your class” message that would substitute for an awkward handshake.
I stood in the entryway of this crowded room and thought to myself, “I love my daughter. I’m here to support my daughter. She’s nervous and needs your support.”
I took a few deep breaths and forced myself to follow my wife and daughter through the chaos toward the band booth in the back of the room. At least 900 teenagers and parents coughed on me.
When we finally made it to the booth, we stood behind another set of parents and soon-to-be-freshman for our turn to awkwardly shake the hand of the band teacher and collect our paper flyers.
My daughter, who hadn’t said a word since we walked into the building, finally spoke.
“Oh, I see two of my friends over there. I’m going to go with them. Bye!”
Then she left. Poof. Gone. She and her friends started giggling and wandering, and I lost sight of her within seconds.
My wife and I stood there in disbelief. What happened to the girl who was too nervous to come? She just abandoned us for her friends!
By the time our turn came to meet the band teacher, I was still fuming from the betrayal. I mumbled something to the teacher, and my wife collected the informational handouts.
“What should we do now?” I asked my wife, feeling abandoned and also still very anxious about being crammed into the crowd for no good reason.
Luckily, my wife always knows what to do.
She said, “Let’s just go sit in the car until she texts us that she’s ready to go.”
So, we sat in the parking lot of the high school … two bewildered and overwhelmed parents of a soon-to-be freshman. In four years, our baby daughter will be an adult.
For a moment, I felt a tinge of sadness about how fast it seemed our daughter grew up. Life moves so fast.
But that sadness only lasted a few seconds. Because I was sitting in the safety of my car, in silence, far away from the mayhem inside that high school. With quiet and solitude comes peace. I am on the precipice of my true best form as a reclusive curmudgeon.
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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.
The Exhausted Dad
