First day of school; inspired by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sarahparah
Sep. 10th, 2004 10:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jawnbcI was a total Mama’s boy. I’m the youngest (4 kids in 3.75 years), was born in difficult circumstances (Ma almost bled out), and really I was a big honkin’ sissygurl who loved to cook and sing and laugh. I weren’t never gonna be Daddy’s right hand (lil) man.
By age 5 Ma and I had several little rituals. I could answer the phone, but only if she were in the room. My job was to get the mail (from the mail box on the post at the end of the driveway). We genuinely enjoyed each others’ company. We were pals.
I was also precocious, and was already reading--and I’d read anything. TV Guide. Highview Highlights. Even Sports Illustrated. Ma, having toddled 3 other kids to kindergarten in the previous 4 years, knew the value in “pumping me up” about going to school. So as that first September (1969) drew nearer, I was very, very excited.
My anal retentiveness is also a birthright, though it’s doubtless a recessive gene. No one else in the family is quite so...certain about The Way Things Are Supposed to Be Done. Already a sociologist-in-training, I had keenly observed the rituals of Kathleen, Michael and Tommy. I needed a book bag. I needed paper book covers. I need pens and pencils and erasers and rulers. I need a notebook.
And I had to take the bus to school. It was the right way, the only way.
Except that local custom had parents (mostly Mums but occasionally Dads as well, or some grandparents) drove the kindergarteners that first day, walked them in, introduced them to their teacher. Smiles, sweat, shrieks and howls--kids and parents reacted in all sorts of ways. Ma had learned to drive precisely so she could drive Kathleen to her first day. Then Michael and Tommy. So of course she would drive me--her baby, her favourite--as well. And no doubt there was the whole empty nest thing. But I wasn’t buying. No no no no no no. Even then Ma capitulated and had to call the school to have them send the school bus that day (so few kids needed a bus that day) to our block.
I had my new school clothes (not a uniform, public school--we were the first Egan progeny to not do Catlick skool) and all my school stuff, and I was waiting for the bus on our front steps. No doubt I was salivating, I was that excited. I remember Ma sitting with me, but I don’t remember what she was doing, what she said, how her mood was. The (half empty) bus came, I leapt up, gave Ma a big hug and kiss and ran down the sidewalk. I sat in the window and frantically--and happily--waved good-bye to Mommy. I was a big boy! I was going school! Bye Mommy! Bye!
I found out years later Ma cried the entire afternoon, and was weepy for days after. And couldn’t bear to get the mail herself for weeks.
By age 5 Ma and I had several little rituals. I could answer the phone, but only if she were in the room. My job was to get the mail (from the mail box on the post at the end of the driveway). We genuinely enjoyed each others’ company. We were pals.
I was also precocious, and was already reading--and I’d read anything. TV Guide. Highview Highlights. Even Sports Illustrated. Ma, having toddled 3 other kids to kindergarten in the previous 4 years, knew the value in “pumping me up” about going to school. So as that first September (1969) drew nearer, I was very, very excited.
My anal retentiveness is also a birthright, though it’s doubtless a recessive gene. No one else in the family is quite so...certain about The Way Things Are Supposed to Be Done. Already a sociologist-in-training, I had keenly observed the rituals of Kathleen, Michael and Tommy. I needed a book bag. I needed paper book covers. I need pens and pencils and erasers and rulers. I need a notebook.
And I had to take the bus to school. It was the right way, the only way.
Except that local custom had parents (mostly Mums but occasionally Dads as well, or some grandparents) drove the kindergarteners that first day, walked them in, introduced them to their teacher. Smiles, sweat, shrieks and howls--kids and parents reacted in all sorts of ways. Ma had learned to drive precisely so she could drive Kathleen to her first day. Then Michael and Tommy. So of course she would drive me--her baby, her favourite--as well. And no doubt there was the whole empty nest thing. But I wasn’t buying. No no no no no no. Even then Ma capitulated and had to call the school to have them send the school bus that day (so few kids needed a bus that day) to our block.
I had my new school clothes (not a uniform, public school--we were the first Egan progeny to not do Catlick skool) and all my school stuff, and I was waiting for the bus on our front steps. No doubt I was salivating, I was that excited. I remember Ma sitting with me, but I don’t remember what she was doing, what she said, how her mood was. The (half empty) bus came, I leapt up, gave Ma a big hug and kiss and ran down the sidewalk. I sat in the window and frantically--and happily--waved good-bye to Mommy. I was a big boy! I was going school! Bye Mommy! Bye!
I found out years later Ma cried the entire afternoon, and was weepy for days after. And couldn’t bear to get the mail herself for weeks.
