Photo by Carlos Aristizabal
The instructions for the incoming kindergarten class were simple:
follow the pink or blue line, depending on what animal you were assigned (butterfly was pink, fox was blue) and it would lead to your class’s building. Parents (all of whom seemed exponentially more nervous than their children) were allowed to escort their kids that first week of school. After that, the budding academics would have to manage the two-minute walk with the help of teachers and older students who’d gone through the ritual before.
On that first day going in solo, tiny children bearing brand new haircuts and balancing backpacks bigger than they were headed forth while anxious parents watched, shouting animal names in their direction with the hopes that would guide them to their destination.
Some children sought Mom and Dad out in the crowd and others charged on with eyes glued to their allotted line on the floor. My son immediately — and quite purposefully — skewed off course, making a sharp left turn away from the safety of the pink and blue lines all disappearing behind unknown territory.
“Where’s he going?” I wondered out loud while cursing myself for not properly coaching him on how to safely reach Mrs. Kirsch. When I voiced my concern to a responsible-looking fourth grader stationed by the gate, she assured me there were plenty of kids throughout the campus making sure the little ones got to where they needed to go. The day crawled by as I imagined my boy lost and alone in the bowels of what was, clear to everyone but me, a warm and embracing school.
When I picked him up that afternoon, he seemed safe and content, greeting me with a wide smile.
“Where did you go? You didn’t follow the pink line,” I blurted out with a combination of exasperation and reprimand.
He swung around his backpack, deftly unzipping the side pocket with the agility of a seasoned pro. “I started a business,” he stated, revealing a substantial bundle of one-dollar bills surrounded by a sea of shiny coins.
I stared in wonder as streams of families passed by us, the kids babbling to curious parents about circle time and having a cubby hole.
“Kids need pencils,” my five-year-old explained in his standard matter-of-fact tone, “so I brought a bunch from home.” He paused, already skilled in building up momentum. “Two dollars each,” he finished, before gifting me, once more, that irresistible grin.
As we walked toward the car, he revealed having spotted the school store. He parked himself in front of it and began luring kids with his charm and the promise of an unbeatable deal. The bulk of his backpack’s side pocket was proof that he had the knack as a salesman.
Inevitably, a sense of pride filled me (after all, his grandfather and father were entrepreneurs). Still, I gently suggested he focus on making friends and enjoying the brand-new playground. That advice fell on deaf ears. As we turned the corner, he caught sight of something on the floor and dashed to pick it up. With the excitement of a lottery winner, he exclaimed, “Look, a brand-new pen! I wonder how much I can sell that for.”
Happy Reading,
Alona Abbady Martinez
alona@bocaratonobserver.com