Last week we ate dinner with Ben's dad and were talking about the beginning of kindergarten. Bill can remember both orientation and his first day. Neither Ben nor I could remember ours, or many first days at all -- Ben, none and I, only 9th grade and college. Tomorrow morning Silas will have his first day of kindergarten -- the only first day of kindergarten he'll ever have. What will he remember about this sliver of life when we lived in a pink house and walked to school down an alley? I cannot anticipate or create what comes next. These experiences will be only his, the beginnings of his conscious story -- the friends he'll have, games he'll play at recess, lego creations he'll build, ways he'll be hurt or victorious or excited, beaming moments of learning this or hitting the ball there. I will walk (and pray) him to the door of room #5 each morning, kiss his little face, and just like that, we will live in a new season.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but today, a sunny Monday, both Silas and I are ready. I hope we'll hold hands as we walk.