She had to say it again. Her tone sounded … well, it sounded like she thought I was an imbecile: “Yes! TOMORROW is the last day of kindergarten.” OK, I am sort of an imbecile. We men don’t compute things until they’re laid out in front of us with neon and barbecue sauce slathered all over. We should pay better attention. We should listen once in a while, but that requires more brain cells than we have in the bank.
Supervisity … and the kindergarten field trip chaperone
“Field trip chaperone,” read the yellow sticker slapped on my shirt. It represented power … authority … responsibility … supervisity. (Sure, kindergarten chaperones shouldn’t be making up words, but the little yellow sticker left me drunk with power.) It was my second run at “the big show” — a kindergarten expedition off the reservation.
Chubby pencils, freshmen parents and going to kindergarten
I don’t know what was worse this week … the threat of a category 3 hurricane remodeling the house … or my daughter going off to kindergarten. Which is exactly what she’s doing this week. Just like all the other little ones across the county. Done with pre-school, and now graduated into the big leagues. Elementary school. ELEMENTARY school. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!!!
Father camera units and the great preschool graduation debacle
I do declare … a kindergartner. That’s what my daughter is now. She graduated from Memorial Presbyterian Day School, a wonderful place where she learned amazing things, including how to turn washable paints into permanent ink stains. It was a terrific little ceremony the other night, filled with merriment, songs by children (some whose voices could carve names into glass) and diplomas for little tikes in blue caps and flowing gowns. Precious.