Purple Stars

         Every parent has or will go through dropping off your child for the first time at the oversized school building. As you pull up to the drop off zone, you can’t help but wonder what kind of a world is just beyond those two giant metal doors. A few kind faces boxed in by yellow cones greet you and help themselves to your vehicle’s door as you pull to a stop. The small daughter or son in the back seat are mostly covered by the large back pack that sits in their lap. Their fingers eagerly grasping the front, usually decorated in that year’s most popular cartoon character.

         You don’t want them to be scared so you can’t let them know you are scared. After all, you are leaving your kids with strangers for the next several hours. This has never been done before. You are entering into as much unknown as they are as they struggle to swing the giant back pack over their shoulders outside on the curb. You don’t want to make a scene, but maybe you should get out and help them find their way to the door although it is a mere 20 feet away and the three adult supervisors of the school could probably handle it just fine. Still you jump out with the hand held camera already on standby.

         At this age the child is still willing to pose for that one last picture before they enter the education world. Teachers smile and hide the urge they have to move your car along so that the next scared camera holder can pull up and do the same thing. Finally your child is gone behind the doors. You peer through the small framed windows of the door but the height of your little boy or girl is just under where your view is. They must do this on purpose. A deep sigh, followed by a quick tear and you pull off almost eager to swing back around and wait until three o’clock. The first day of school has come and you wonder if they are alright.

         I experienced this with my first born daughter, Cassidy, over five years ago. Wow, time does fly. She will be going into the fifth grade next year. Although that first day memory is back several years, I can still see that day vividly in my mind. My wife was up early to make Cassidy the breakfast of her choice, pancakes and milk. The large purple Disney themed backpack made up more than half of my daughters size. Her kindergarten mat that expected her to take a nap was tucked under one arm. The large rectangle name tag that displayed her first and last name was stuck to her chest. In nearly every picture taken, Cassidy wore a half nervous, half excited smile. She was still unaware of what all this going to school stuff was about.

         Once she was in the car and buckled in, her eager (eager because he had the toys and house to himself for the next 8 hours) younger brother beside her, it began to set in for me. I drove the car towards the school which was only a few blocks away. My wife sat tapping her fingers on her leg and fidgeting with the small digital camera to make sure the batteries were still charged.

         We didn’t immediately pull up to the entrance but instead parked a block from the school. We would all get out and walk to the door together. We said it was for Cassidy not to have to walk alone but it was really for us not to have to let her go. Once we were near the entrance my wife easily convinced Cassidy to stop and take a few more pictures against the red brick building.

“Okay, that’s enough.” I jumped in ready to get this temporary goodbye over with.

         A few last hugs and “You will have fun!” promises and Cassidy went inside the building. We stood there making sure she didn’t change her mind at the last minute and she didn’t. The hard part was done. We dropped off our daughter for the first time. My wife wiped away a few tears and I laughed to cover mine. We walked arm in arm back to the car and drove back home.

         After you have gotten used to the drop off of school, your mind switches gears. Now my concern was,  “Is she okay? Is she adapting? Does she like her class? Does she have friends? Is she understanding the lessons? Does she sit alone at lunch? Does she have a boyfriend? Where does he live so I can go beat up his dad?” Well maybe not all of us had those questions but I did.

Each day I would pick her up, she would run to my car and hop in excited and smiling. On the first day she got in the car and shut the door.

“Hi, daddy! I got a purple star!”

“A purple what?” I said beginning to drive away.

“A purple star.” She repeated pulling out a blue folder that displayed small boxes for each day. Monday displayed a large purple star on it.

“Oh cool!” I faked the excitement still not sure what it meant.

“I get a purple star when I am good all day.” She said.

“Good job baby!” the light bulb clicked on as I congratulated her.

         Day two came along and the same event took place. She hopped in the car, immediately opened the folder and displayed Tuesday with the second large purple star on it. Day three, the same thing happened.

“Three stars in a row!” she exclaimed. I squeezed her shoulder with a tickle and told her I was proud of her.

         On day four something special happened. Something that I can still vividly see in my mind’s eye like it was yesterday. The moment that I knew my baby girl would be okay. The moment that I refer to often when I see how well she is doing today in school, how much she has grown up and how beautiful she turned out to be.

         On day four, I drove up to my usual spot and parked. Today I had arrived about ten minutes early. The children had not yet been excused to walk towards their parent’s car. I messed with the knobs on the radio and adjusted the volume. I heard some commotion and looked towards the door that I knew my daughter would be walking out of any minute. A small crowd of kids just inside the door were beginning to pile up and prepare to come out of the building. My eyes scanned the equally sized children to try and spot the one that belonged to me. Somehow every girl had brown hair in a pony tail and a purple Disney back pack. I grew frustrated not able to identify my own daughter.

         I looked harder. As my eyes skimmed the top of the heads I finally saw her. I didn’t see her face. I didn’t see her hair. I couldn’t even see her body. About three rows back into the herd of children I simply saw a small hand bouncing up and down. The fingers stretched out displaying the number four. I leaned in and made sure I was seeing what I thought I was. I was. My daughter was jumping up and down holding her hand up to let me know she got her fourth purple star in a row. For some reason I started to cry. At that moment I knew she would be okay. At that moment I knew she was growing up right before my eyes. At that moment I knew a shift had taken place in the daddy’s little girl saga. I will never forget that moment for as long as I live.

PD