Hurt

Yesterday, Hunter had a stomach bug and a high fever, so Jerry took Wilder to school. He told me last night, when he'd gotten home from work, that dropping him off had been unexpectedly emotional. Watching Wilder's first-grade class walking into school, and drawing the inevitable parallels ...

I got what he was saying, but I didn't really get it until this morning, when Hunter was feeling better and so we resumed the norm of H and I taking Wilder to school.

As we walked up, I saw a lot of moms giving their kids lingering hugs. Taking their kids faces in their hands and telling them how loved they are. I, too, gave W an unusually long and tight hug, kissed his head and told him all the usual stuff (be good, have fun, make wise decisions, remember how much I love you ...) and he trotted off to get in line.

I looked around for Hunter to make sure he was still nearby and, seeing him, I looked back to Wilder. And there he stood, with all his first-grade buddies. And I started to cry. It was such a spontaneous response and I instantly wanted to stop — not because I was embarrassed (hell, all us soccer moms, and quite a few dads, are crying a lot more these days, I'm pretty sure — but because I didn't want any of the kids to see me. They need to feel safe at school, and seeing your mom or someone else's mom fall apart outside the school doors doesn't help that.

As I tried to pull myself together, I saw tear-blurred images of innocence. Pink and lavender coats. Little boys huddled around one another, mostly likely discussing all things Ninjago or Skylanders. Backpacks with kitties and Mario. Missing front teeth. Little-boy hair sticking straight up and tangled little-girl hair. Laughter and boisterous talk.

For fuck's sake, what the hell is going on? And how do we make it stop? How do we keep our kids safe in a world gone increasingly mad?