My wife is crafty. Not in a shifty poker player “crafty,” but more of help with wedding centerpieces kind of “crafty.” So it came as no surprise when she put together a project when our oldest daughter headed to kindergarten four years ago.
It consisted of poster board, glue and construction paper — pretty much what my daughter used to create her masterpieces in class that year. But much like my wife does every day, she surprised me with what she created. It was a sign that read “Class of 2025” that she wanted my daughter to hold in front of the house on the first day of school each year (which she has done, more reluctantly with each passing year; say a prayer for us as we inch closer to those teenage years).
OK, so maybe a poster board sign won’t hang at the DIA in the years to come, but did you see that? Class of 2025!
I’m a child of the ’70s. I lived through Y2K when the world was supposed to end because of a computer glitch. But now I’m reading a sign that is two-and-a-half decades past when the 1s and 0s were going to be our demise. It’s hard to wrap your mind around.
I’ve learned to come to grips with her world differing totally from mine. She learns in totally different ways than I ever did, and I’m OK with it (except for the math! Different blog…). I know she’s going to be smarter than I am, and in some ways she already is. When I played football, I was an offensive lineman; I made space for others to go on to do great things. I’m trying to do the same thing by clearing a path so she can do her own great things. I have faith she’s going to change the world; it’s up to her on how big her impact is.
This year my wife will get out a new piece of poster board, glue, letters and numbers for our youngest as she starts kindergarten. That sign will read “Class of 2029.” Please help us. Not that we feel even older (we do), but we’re unleashing one of the sassiest 5-year-olds on the world. She’s quick witted, understands sarcasm, has a heart of gold, and will somehow wrap you around her little finger in a matter of minutes as she sizes you up for one of her patented jokes. She too will change the world somehow, but I won’t have to help cut her path. If I tried all I’d hear is “move.”
As we enter a new school year, I want to thank the teachers in advance for all of their hard work; it doesn’t go unnoticed. And if you’re lucky enough to have our youngest in your class, it might be good if we set up a safe word just in case she tries to take over the class with one of her comedy routines.
– Jim Pesta is a Parenting Program participant and father of two girls.