Wings in Motion

by Patti

The strangest thing happened the other evening. I found myself at my baby's school, clutching an orange folder with S's name on it. In this folder was a neat stack of papers, listing teachers' names and schedules and electives.  Surely this can't be right, I told myself as I looked around the school library, surrounded by other mothers and an assortment of 11-year olds. I mean, I get why they are here.... but what am I doing here? And then the principal clapped her hands and welcomed us to the next chapter of our child's lives: middle school.

Oh.

Days later, I am still wondering how this happened. I mean, how can it be that I can still hear S's newborn cries in my ears; I can still see the pudgy hand in mine; I can still see her looking up at me in wonder as she discovers the world.  So how does it make sense that she is now going into junior high? JUNIOR. HIGH.
It doesn't.

But it's happening. Just like I knew it would but hoped it wouldn't. And I know it's only the beginning. Because then, just as they discussed at the middle school orientation, there is high school, and then college, and then heartaches of adulthood, and then... and then... and THEN...

S has been existing in a bubble of anticipation this past week. "I can't believe I'm going into middle school!" she sings out as she eats her cereal, or walks the dog, or brushes her teeth. "I'm SO nervous!" She has carried that orange folder, the one that holds the choices she will make as she sets the wheels of her future in motion, with her everywhere since she received it a few days ago. "Can you help me pick? I think I want drama workshop and debate! What else?" She looks down at the paper, weighing her options, already worried about making a mistake.

What is so weird is that, as she wonders and worries and anticipates, I can so clearly see myself wandering the huge halls of my own middle school. I was so short and skinny and shy; I felt swallowed up by my junior high experience. Until I disovered the things that woke me up and made me shine and broke me right out my shell.
S is different: She is short and skinny, but shy? Not in the least. She is brave and strong and outgoing. She is silly and bright and fun. She won't be swallowed up by her experience; instead, she will swallow it right up. S? Will do fine.

This weekend we will sit down and carefully go through that orange folder. She will make her own choices, and I will be there just in case she has a question or wants an opinion. And that is all. Because this will be her journey. Fly, baby.