I think I was more nervous than you were. You made your name tag for your cubbie, four letters drawn along the line and then two squeezed in at the top of the page where there was space, and then ran off to play with the giant wooden dollhouse on the other side of the room. I sat in a little chair at a little table across from your dad and your new teacher and worried that she would like us.
I smiled like I was at a job interview. I said good things about you. I answered her questions. I drew a blank when she asked if we had questions for her. I attempted not to embarrass you or sabotage the rest of your school-life with a stupid remark. I marveled that this was the place, this was the room where you would be spending so much time over the next two years. With this person other than me.
I felt exhausted by the time we left your class. You asked if we could go and visit your old preschool, so we walked across the hall. You made a circuit of the room smiling at your old teachers and looking at what was so familiar to you only months ago. Your old teachers noticed how tall you are, how much older you look. I noticed that too. I looked around the preschool and could see how ready you are for kindergarten. With your new teacher.