Counting Down to High School

Friday, August 20, 2010

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Counting Down to High School

By J’AMY PACHECO

And I thought kindergarten was bad.

It’s been nine years since I left my only child in the hands of complete strangers and asked them to fill her brain with the knowledge she would need to get through school.

That day was particularly difficult, as she started school on Sept. 13, 2001. Depositing my child at a school where I didn’t know anybody before our nation’s tears had dried from the terrorist attacks of 9/11 was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

But kindergarten turned out to be a good place. She learned the days of the week, basic addition, sharing, and how to make applesauce. She tried green eggs and ham for the first time, sang all by herself in a play, and read all of the hilarious “Junie B. Jones” books.

In subsequent years, she learned to multiply those numbers, to write stories and deal with more complex relationship issues as “girl angst” took root. Her taste in books shifted from Junie B. to Lemony Snicket; eventually making its way into the “Twilight” series.

The little girl who marched off to kindergarten nine years ago carrying a Barbie backpack and a Tinker Bell lunch box is now headed for high school. For weeks, we’ve been choosing new clothes and shoes and hairstyles, all in preparation for the big day.

She’s ready, but I’m not.

My Barbie girl’s wardrobe has certainly changed. This year, her clothes are mostly black and red with a British rock-and-roll theme. Little light-up Disney princess shoes have been replaced by black ankle boots with metal studs on them.

The thick, shiny hair that once flowed down her back now has more of a Mick Jagger look. A few days ago, we went in to a hair salon to have red streaks dyed into it.

It’s a different girl I’m taking to high school, but I’m just as worried as I was that September day nine years ago.

We picked up her schedule and textbooks a few days ago. Glancing through books for Geometry, Honors Biology and Japanese, I realized that high school was going to be a lot harder than it was when I went decades ago.

I suspect it’s also going to be a lot more expensive. We waited in line for three hours to complete the registration process, ending in a room set up like a store.

There, we bought an ASB card; PE clothes and the obligatory season football pass for Mom, the chauffer for another year and a half. We even pre-ordered the yearbook. I was worn-down enough from standing in line so long that when I passed the section where enthusiastic students hawked school-themed sleep shorts and “Mom” t-shirts, I couldn’t say no.

That was the third line I’d been in during the three hours. Once I’d completed the first two, I was given a ticket allowing me entry to the third, and longest, line. I couldn’t help noticing that the ticket read, “Good for one drink.”

About halfway through the line, my cell phone rang. It was another mom I’d met last year, who was about 20 minutes ahead of me in line.

“Did you see what the ticket said?” she asked. “Do you think there will be adult beverages for the parents at the end?” We had a good laugh at the mere suggestion.

Of course, there weren’t—just shorts and t-shirts; school decals and yearbooks, a hefty invoice, and instructions to go to the library to check out textbooks.

Technically, we’re ready for high school. Emotionally, I’m not.

The first time I drove into the high school’s parking lot, an athletic team was practicing on the field. My jaw dropped at the realization that some of the students looked like adults. With my slender little rocker having just cracked the 100-pound mark, it felt like there was a kindergartener in the car with me.

In high school, the kids are bigger; the work is more difficult, and for the college-bound student, the stakes are higher. And in a school with nearly 3,000 students, I imagine it would be really easy to become lost—literally, morally and philosophically.

But just as I had to leave my little Barbie Girl at kindergarten nine years ago, I have to leave my mid-sized London rocker and her red-streaked hair at her new high school in a few days.

Just as she was OK back then, I’m sure she’ll be OK now. And just as I got through kindergarten, I’m sure I’ll be OK with high school, too.

Eventually.