Fighting Going Forward

I was walking down the hallway last week and had the-imaginary-wall-is-blocking-my-walkway feeling. I've only felt it once before: the moment before I walked down the aisle to be married and after I glimpsed my dad holding back tears, twenty years and a few odd days ago. This time, a few days ago, was right after elementary-school graduation more rightly named "recognition" day.

I am pushing forward, happy in the successes of my oldest (recognized for his volunteerism and theoretical leadership skills as a math day volunteer, safety patrol officer, media assistant, newsperson) but mostly mourning the loss of his past, my parenting past, and a nurturing environment. Nearly all of his teachers in this school, the one he attended since kindergarten, were nurturing, compassionate, fun, enthusiastic, and motivating.

His elementary-school career is in contrast with mine. Like him, I lived in the same home from the time I started school until the time I finished school. Unlike him, I attended three elementary schools with an ever-changing group of kids and an assortment of disinterested, politically correct, and modern teachers. My strengths were never celebrated though my weaknesses were noted. Even when I wrote a letter to the editor published in The Charlotte Observer as an 11-year-old, I was considered a liar at worst (the prevailing thought was that I falsely claimed authorship that belonged to my mother) and a troublemaker at worst (the letter had political content). My son would have been lauded not only for his writing abilities but also for his initiative and outspokenness.

I was in my 20s when I discovered, not on my own but from another's experience, that teachers could be kind. I remembering listening to a friend, a college graduate from a small mountain community, rant about an instructor at a state university, where she was taking a few courses in preparation for entering medical school. According to her, the instructor was curt, uncaring, and unhelpful when asked for assistance. My thought in response to her comments that teachers should be nurturing was "there are teachers who are nurturing?" I never knew.

Seeing those nuturing teachers in action makes it difficult for me to prepare my oldest move to a new place (middle school this August) where he won't be quite so safe, so cuddled, so celebrated, so recognized. I can hardly believe that this elementary-school chapter, for him, is closed.