So Bridget, Jacob, and I have all started back to school. For Bridget it is the same routine she has been used to the last two years while I was home with the little warrior. For me, I have to admit after the first day I was seriously considering leaving education and finding another job in the world of paint. Of course, this was a normal feeling after so many changes that had become comfortable and welcome - as the main caregiver the last two school years.

I returned to fourth grade (a new grade level for me), a new school, and the thought that I most certainly will not be seeing as much of my son as I had grown accustomed. It was culture shock for that first day.

After an almost full week (four days because of Labor Day), I am back on the bike so to speak. I feel comfortable, confident, and pretty secure in the assumption that I can do this for the next 24 years or so. I’m back.

Jacob, on the other hand, is in a world of hurt. The first few days were fine for him. My mother watched him everyday until he began nursery school on Wednesday. That’s when the castle began to crumble.

The first morning I dropped him off and he seemed eager to go - after months of saying “that’s your school” as we drove by it all summer long. I brought him into the school and we met Ms. Monica, one of the teachers. She seemed very kind and Jacob was okay with a hug and a kiss goodbye from me. He didn’t cry - or so I thought.

I left and arrived at school ten minutes later. I taught all morning, with thoughts of him in my head, and then I received an upsetting email from the woman who cares for Jacob the three afternoons he goes to school. She said he cried almost all morning and was asking to go home. I was so disappointed and heartbroken to hear that he did not enjoy his morning. The rest of his day was more blissful, as he really likes Gal and staying with her for lunch and a nap.

I arrived home that afternoon, after picking Jacob up at Gal’s, and I spoke with Bridget about what happened. We both agreed that CHANGE is hard. I had survived mine the week before, and he was going to survive his. We sent Jacob back on Thursday and Friday morning.

Each day he cried when I left (I’m the lucky one who gets this job - since I start my day ten minutes later), but he also stopped crying shortly after I left. I am okay with that for now. The big picture of socialization and learning is much more important than a few tears.

The hardest part in all of this is that as a parent we all have to let go a little. At two and half, Jacob is more of a person than ever. To keep him isolated from the world could be tougher later on. So he will go to nursery school - whether he likes it or not.

Hopefully he will like it more in time. We think he will. Of course, for now we will have to put up with, “I don’t want to go to school anymore.”

I know what you mean, brother. I know what you mean.

Resist. Multiply. Don’t cry when your kid does.

So today I made the trek back to the town that I taught in for six seasons before Jacob came along. It was with trepidation and some excitement that I entered the new building (an old building I had previously worked at to start my career) and entered the principal’s office. Like a kid in school I was full of nervous anticipation as to what was to come next. The truth was that I had manipulated the situation to my favor. I had in fact waited patiently for a chance to change schools, grade levels, and perhaps even myself. After two wonderful years at home with Jacob, my time is nearing an end in this capacity, at least.

Recently I wrote a piece about wrestling where I tried to eloquently make comparisons about life in terms of six minutes (the length of most wrestling bouts) and how small an amount of time that really is.  Life is the larger event and the more substantial or meaningful piece in the time equation. Live it well. Basically what we all know is that time waits for none of us. It does not stand still and it certainly does not know how to expand to give us more of it. Simply put, my time with Jacob is and always was working as a count down and not the other way around. After two excellent years at home with the little warrior I am beginning to realize that reality.

Nevertheless, I will not complain or feel sad about the fact that next year at this time I will be completing my first year back in school. I have to move on and so does Jacob. Life is not meant to be lived standing still. It is important for me to journey back to teaching other children, and it is equally important for Jacob to begin his adventure in school. Next year he will have his grandma (my retired mother) looking after him two days a week and the rest of the time he will be tearing it up in nursery school. This is all part of growing up. Jacob is ready and so am I. (I think Bridget is ready, too. We’ll see when we get to that first day of school. Tears are expected for sure.)

So after a few minutes of talking with my new principal in my new school with a new mindset beginning to unfold, I quickly began to switch gears and transition back into a life I knew so well before Jacob ever entered the equation. This time I am wiser, stronger, more seasoned; despite two full years away from the game. Being a parent has and will continue to make me a better educator. I look at everything differently now and I think about my experiences at home, knowing that I can make a strong difference in the lives of my students. I also realize how important time with my family is. I cherish it and I always will put Bridget and Jacob first before any school work or situations related to school. 

There is no room for sadness on my part. I am lucky. Not many dads get the chance to do what I have done. I am thankful for my time - even if it seems to be speeding up lately. I have more of it, I remind myself. It will change in a few months, but what doesn’t change? Life is like that and Jacob will learn that someday, too. What’s crucial is to enjoy every moment along the way.

Resist. Multiply. Take time to enjoy your family.

Prose

At the beginning of the summer, which now seems many galaxies, and one new born away, I wrote a piece praising, welcoming the summer season, and the closing of yet another trying, but rewarding school year.  It was entitled “Zion Train”.  Summers move quickly, the time seems to take a certain type of “move along” initiative leaving people in the whirlwind of warm weather, and fast forward hiatuses. This summer in particular it seemed as if the universe inhaled, late June, the universe exhaled, breathing out, leaving a dew on the early morning grass of a relaxing Labor day weekend, September.  Quick. A very quick two months.

In between that breath I waited, and I waited some more for the arrival of Dalton.  While waiting my way through the summer, I painted, not canvas masterpieces that would adorn the prestigious walls of quiet museums or trendy galleries, but houses, both the insides and outsides of many a home.  Some of my work, Benjamin Moore inspired, is worthy of a full-page layout in a Home Depot, or Ikea catalog.  If I do say so myself.

Painting, the heat, sweat, and fatigue that goes hand in hand with that type of work is what accompanied me on my Zion Train ride, destination – infancy (Dalton Charles Drosselmeier) and September (another school year).  On many a painting adventure Dean Everton Prescott was at my side with an endless sense of humor, and countless iPod playlists to sound true, and make the day seem a little bit shorter, cooler, and not so strenuous.  Like many, many things in life, painting is simple, but far from easy.

Even though I painted a considerable amount there was an abundance of “free time”, and a lot of flexibility in my schedule.  Rising late in the morning, staying up late at night, the obvious cause of the aforementioned noon time risings, the mid day watching of movies (Stella and I watched all three seasons of Weeds this summer, great show), the impromptu lunches and beers with friends, the reading of books, I highly recommend Junot Diaz’s latest go at it The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and get togethers with friends and family all added tranquility to the summer train of 2008.

You see, I went from feast to famine.  I know, get out your mini, thumb and pointer finger, violins, and your woe is me hankies, but I was in a serious culture shock this July and August.

Feast
For the past six summers Stella and I have shared a beach house with family and friends for the entire three to four month season.  Great, life long bonding surf sessions, the consumption of various beers, and beach inspired cocktails, deliciously cooked BBQ’s enjoyed under the Easter egg like horizon of the distant sun, the passing along, exuberant sharing of good reads, exceptional bands, and entertaining DVDs all added spiritual weight and cognitive density to the warm months, creating a surrogate family known as “The Beach Crew”.  Another portion of the gluttonous, slightly spoiled feast that was my summer of 2007, I spent a month in Costa Rica doing more of the same just mentioned but with a Central American slant and influence on things.

Famine
This summer, to save money, and prepare for, at the time, our genderless, nameless child, we put a cease on the beach house, and a desist on the Costa Rica trek. The people, the surf, the beaches, the smell of the expansive Atlantic and the blinding visual of the sun drenched Pacific, the countless laughs, and soul chuckles were missed indeed. I know, salty tears are staining your red cheeks, and gently dripping onto your monitor and keyboard, but it was a serious adjustment, and the train ride did have it’s bumps, and sharp turns along the way due to the absence of an “Endless Summer”.

That being said, the sacrifices were worth it; it was more than worth it, it was a privilege and a honor to do what had to be done to successfully prepare for the pursuit and obtainment of young Dalton.  There, you see, smash those mini violins on your computer desk.

Destination September
At the station of September is a grammar school, my place of employment.  Flexibility in my schedule is over, late nights are over, well, not really, Dalton is quickly turning into a night bird, well, a night bird with a spine tingling battle cry that do keep one up through the darkness, and liquid lunches with friends are put into limited rotation, Saturdays.  School has invaded.  I, the humble educator, is now a servant of the conquering state, a hired gun on the front lines of the always turbulent American classroom.  The conductor is signaling for me to get off the train immediately.  Insisting I bring my futile bear hug on summer mentality with me, even if it was a famine like one.  School is in session.

Zion Train, no mas.

-Owen

Tomorrow:  Maine or Bust

Resist. Multiply.