Life Behind the Curve

Parenting is so often about fighting the last battle. It’s so often about protecting our kids from our heartaches only to give them a whole new set all their own. I know I can’t protect my boys from all heartache. Yet it is that rational understanding that my emotions are trampling all over right now.

My parents have lived in the same house for the past 21 years, more than two-thirds of my life. But before that, in my very early childhood, I went through a lot of moves, both in residence and in schools. I was born in Michigan. I moved to the suburbs of St. Louis when I was 2. It was in that small townhouse that I made my earliest memories. We moved to a suburb further north when I was 4. I started in preschool. I then went to another pre-kindergarten program. Then I moved on to kindergarten in our neighborhood school. I was in that school through second grade. During the following summer we moved to Fremont, California. I entered third grade there, but moved yet again in February to Palo Alto, the city I now call my hometown.

By my 10th birthday I didn’t have a single friend who knew me more than 9 months. Some of my friends went to Kindergarten together, some preschool. Hell two of my friends’ moms were roommates at the hospital when they were born. They literally knew each other since birth.

I know other people have had it worse than me, but in my 9 year old, friendless mind moving was the most horrific thing a parent could do to their child. Sure, I had no problems making new friends, but I had no history with them. I was without a past.

My sister was much more open about the social troubles moving had caused, which seemed to make sense as she was 11, just entering adolescence, when we left St. Louis. I, on the other hand, internalized it and simply swore to myself that I would make sure that my kids stayed settled, have lifelong friends and a history with people outside of their families.

The move from Virginia to California pretty much solidified that that isn’t going to happen for D. We keep in touch with our friends who have a son 3 weeks older than him. They really were friends at birth. They trick-or-treated together on their first (real) Halloween. But D hasn’t seen him since he was two and I’m not sure he remembers him.

When we moved to California, we put D and B in the same daycare center. There have been transitions from room-to-room, and friends have come and gone. We went through an especially rough patch last year when we decided to have D repeat the pre-K program while every other kid in his class went on to kindergarten. Luckily one of his best friends’ brother stayed at the school, and his mom is on Facebook, so we’ve been able to stay in touch that way. I’ve added two other kids’ parents as well, so we can try to get the kids together to play.

The friend I’m most sad about D leaving is his “girlfriend”, M, mostly because she lives in LA. (Her mom had a job that brought her up here so she rented an apartment and brought M along with her. Her dad is in LA, as is her kindergarten.) She writes D love letters. (Her mom told me that M wouldn’t show her the letters. She was too embarrassed). D cuts out and colors hearts and seals them in an envelope for her. I really don’t know where they get this stuff, seriously. But it’s adorable puppy love.

Well, today is M’s last day. Tomorrow is D and B’s last day. And I’m sitting here crying as I type this. I’m not totally sure what I’m crying about.

It’s not M that I’m crying about, though she is a sweet, adorable, loyal friend to D. He ran to his room last night crying. He didn’t want to talk about it but I heard him up there, and heard B asking, “What’s wrong?” He was sad that he wasn’t going to be going to school with her and his other friends. He wants to stay at his old school. We told him that none of his friends were staying (which he rationally totally understands), but leaving M, knowing that she’s going back to LA (what can I say, my kid knows geography) is breaking his little heart.

I’m not really crying about D getting older and going to kindergarten. Growing up is something that should be celebrated, not mourned. And though I make jokes asking where has the time gone, I know that he’s ready for this next step in his life. I’m proud of him. He’s going to do great.

I’m not crying, yet, about B. See, in all of this B doesn’t have a clue. He doesn’t know that next week he’s going to have to go to a new school in a new building with a new schedule taught by new teachers in a new class with new friends. Sure we drive by the school and wave and say “Hi new school!” but he doesn’t really understand. I suspect next Tuesday is going to be extremely unpleasant for him and for me. I’ll be crying then too.

I’m not crying about new schools. I know that going through these changes is going to be hard on them, but I know they can handle it. I know that moving from preschool to kindergarten or from one preschool to another is not the most difficult thing either of them will go through. I know they’re both awesome and will make new friends quickly.

I think I’m crying because every time we make one of these transitions, we lose a friend. Sometimes it’s two. Sometimes it’s an entire class. We lose a person who connects us with our past, a person with whom we share an experience and a history that only they and we can understand. I’m crying because I really wish there was a way that I could protect my kids from the heartache that comes from losing a little piece of them when they go through these changes. I’m crying because I miss those little pieces of me that I’ve left behind on my own journey through life. And I’m crying because I know that I’m fighting the last battle and it’s one that I already lost.