“Me Not Big Like Daddy Yet”
Every night for weeks before the first day of preschool,
Julia told Colin:
“When you are a big boy, like Daddy,
You’ll go to preschool.”
She told him what school would be like,
The new kids he would meet, the fun, the work,
Trying to prepare him for that traumatic day of separation—
When they would leave him at the school door
And Colin would be without his Mommy and Daddy nearby.
And then the big day came, and Julia and Eddy said,
“Colin, you go to preschool for the first time today!”
Colin’s eyes welled with tears. He looked himself up and down, and said,
“Me not big like Daddy yet. Colin not go to school yet.”
Julia laughed in spite of herself. Colin took her words literally,
As little people do,
Expecting to somehow, suddenly, grow big as Daddy,
From 3 feet tall to 6 feet tall over night.
After dressing him, combing his hair, fixing him up just right,
Julia said, “OK, Colin, kiss your baby brother Robby good-bye,
And get in the car with Daddy. Love you, Colin.”
Despite that silly thought about a sudden growth spurt,
Both Colin and Julia and Eddy sensed the truth—
The break, this huge step, first day of preschool,
Would be pretty hard.
But then it was done,
The step was taken,
Colin was on his way to becoming a Big Boy,
Julia and Eddy felt that sharp twinge of separation and fear—
A twinge, however necessary,
That happens over and over and over.
Grampa Bob Coughlin, “Brrr” / January 15, 2014
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