My daughter Hannah has now been in grade one for a full week – it’s old hat, really. The first few days not much happened, while the school worked out its final class assignments. Apparently this is the deal now in our district, and maybe all across British Columbia – during the first week no one knows the final class composition. We got a great long newsletter explaining the whole thing, and I don’t entirely understand, other than to say it sounds like a huge headache. During the first week Hannah stayed with her kindergarten class from last year and got into a school routine, which may have eased her transition somewhat, so it wasn’t all bad.

On Monday, Hannah moved into her final class. She’s in a dedicated grade one classroom (rather than a split class), which may or may not actually affect anything at all, but I like the idea that her teacher isn’t divided between two age and ability levels. The classroom is nice, and filled with all the things a grade one classroom should have, like brightly coloured signs listing the months of the year and days of the week, an alphabet with pictures to indicate the sound each letter makes and cubbies for each child with little name cards. The classroom has its own entrance, and the teacher is at the door to greet the students in the morning and make sure they successfully meet up with their parent or daycare provider in the afternoon. It’s all very sweet, really.

About half of the children in the class, give or take, were in the same kindergarten class as Hannah was last year. This means that she’s just getting to know the other half. Never the shrinking violet, though, my daughter is holding her own. To demonstrate, I’ll share a conversation with you.

Hannah and Jacob check out the machinery at work on a portion of the schoolyard

Conversation with Hannah After School

Hannah: Mom, can I have a playdate with him? [pointing at a boy from her class, who I don't recognize]
Me: Maybe – what’s his name?
Hannah: I don’t know, I’ll ask. [turning to the boy] Hey, what’s your name?
Boy: Hortense.^* What’s your name?
^* Not his real name. Unfortunately. Hortense is a cool name.
Hannah: I’m Hannah. Can we have a playdate?
Boy: Mom, can we have a playdate tomorrow?
Boy’s Mother: Tomorrow isn’t good.
Me: It’s not good for us, either. You have gymnastics tomorrow, Hannah.
Hannah: Yay, gymnastics! Bye!
Boy: Bye!
Hannah: I really want to have a playdate with him, outside of school. He asked me to marry him.
Me: You should never marry anyone if you don’t know their name.
Hannah: [rolling her eyes] I KNOW MOM!

So I guess she’s still weighing her options.

Hannah is only six years old. I don’t really know what kind of an adult she’ll grow into, or even what kind of teenager she’ll be. But she’s already had her first marriage proposal, so she’s clearly ahead of the curve on at least one count. I’m just not sure whether to throw an engagement party or lecture her about not rushing into things. Although, truthfully, it probably doesn’t matter which one I choose – Hannah will be Hannah either way. All that I can do is provide a good example, and hope the lessons she learns in that brightly-coloured grade one classroom help to provide her with the tools to make good decisions on her own.

Do you have any tales of fledgling romance, or primary school marriage proposals, whether from your children or your own past? I’d love to hear them!

I snapped this photo yesterday morning as Hannah headed to her first day of grade one. Although, truthfully, it wasn’t much of a first day. For a variety of reasons, the first day of school here lasts for approximately 30 minutes, and basically consists of taking attendance. To make things easier, kids return to their classroom from last year for the brief check-in. So Hannah sat on the carpet in the kindergarten room, with her kindergarten classmates and her kindergarten teacher. Today things will be different, though, and she will actually go to grade one (!!!).

The girl in the photo I took yesterday was barely able to hold still long enough for me to snap the picture. She was bouncing on the spot, literally vibrating with excitement. She brought her bear for company, never thinking twice about it. She talked my ear off about all of the friends that she would see, and about how great it would be to have a desk of her own to keep her school supplies in. She asked about my own grade one experiences, and told me exactly which friends she wanted to see first.

I love my daughter’s unbridled enthusiasm. I love that she doesn’t feel the need to apologize for being herself. I love her constant forward momentum, and her anticipation of what comes next. I love that she still wants me to come along with her, and gives me a special smile from her spot on the carpet. My girl. My big girl. Ready to take on the world with her bear by her side.

Today is the real first day. It’s a day that is full of promise and potential and bittersweet-ness. It’s the day when I will kiss the girl in that photo good-bye, entrusting her to the public school system for a full six hours. And then I will come home without her, and feel the full weight of this transition. It’s full of promise and potential for me, too.

My daughter and I are taking a step towards independence together. It’s fitting, really – because that’s what parenting her has always been. She’s my firstborn, and we figure it all out together. Hopefully, in the end, we’ll both grow up.

More than 9 1/2 months ago, I wrote a letter to my daughter, Hannah, on her first day of kindergarten. Time flies when you have kids, and here we are on her last day. It seems fitting to once again impart my parental wisdom.

Dear Hannah,

Last September I walked you up the hill to start kindergarten. You were a little bit nervous, a little bit excited, and totally ready. I was a little bit nervous, a little bit excited, and totally wistful. I’m your mother, you can expect me to be wistful a lot. It’s my best good thing, right after delivering mini-lectures on the importance of vegetables.

Going to school for the first time was a big step in your life. In doing so, you moved further down the path from belonging to your parents towards belonging to yourself. You are learning how to take your own place in society, and you are doing beautifully. I don’t worry about how you will behave when you are not under my direct supervision, because wherever you find yourself, you seem to know just what to do. I wonder if you really can be mine, and I hope that I had some small part in who you are becoming.

Your growing independence sometimes takes my breath away. You tell me things you learned at school that I don’t even know. You share with me how you handled a disagreement with a friend, and I am struck by your consideration and maturity. You and your friend whisper in each others’ ears, and when I ask what you’re talking about, you refuse to tell me. I am no longer privy to all the little details of your life, and I’m not even privy to all the people in it. You are your own person, with your own interests and your own social circle, and while I am still a part of it, my role is getting smaller all the time.

This year has been about starting school, yes, but it’s also been about playing soccer and attending your first day camp and learning how to do a real cartwheel. It’s been about coming into your own as a big sister, and showing great care for your little brother. It’s been about solemn declarations that you’re too old for potty humour, and discussions about where babies come from. You are continually learning and growing and stretching yourself. And I have to stretch myself, right along with you. Unfortunately, I no longer have your flexibility.

Today I will walk you up the hill to school for your last day as a kindergartner. The next time that we make that walk together you will be in grade 1. I am glad that you are excited about taking the next step in your formal education, because you are. But I sometimes wish that you weren’t in such a rush to get bigger. You have no time to waste, and I understand that. But I always feel as if I am a few steps behind you, just trying desperately to keep you in my sights. I want to pause for just a moment and enjoy you as you are, before you race off to do the next thing.

But there is no pausing. If I’ve learned anything from parenting, it’s that there’s no pausing.

I’m so proud of everything you’ve done this year, my girl. So proud. You’re turning into a really excellent person, and I’m thrilled to be your mother. As wistful as I feel, and as fast as it goes, nothing can change that. Seeing you come into yourself in a new way has been such a privilege. I can hardly wait to see what you do next. Please, whatever it is, just hold still long enough so that I can get a picture of it, OK? Because I don’t want to forget a minute of this.

Love,
Mom

My daughter Hannah is a little more than half-way through kindergarten, which is the first year of formal school where I live. She attends our local public school, and it’s my first exposure to the system since I myself graduated in 1994. I am hardly an expert yet, but I’ve seen enough to form some opinions on public school.

Many (if not most) of my friends have embraced educational alternatives. They homeschool, or send their children to private Montessori or Waldorf schools. Some have opted for French Immersion or other special programs through the public school system. But I did not. I enrolled my daughter in our local public school, without doing much research or seriously considering the alternatives. I went with the local school because it was easy, and Hannah is generally a pretty adaptable kid who does well in classes and childcare settings. I decided to start with the simplest option, knowing that if it doesn’t work for us at any point, we’ll switch things up.

I’m not sure exactly what I expected from public school. I had some concerns about overcrowding, underfunding and disappearing enrichment programs. You hear lots of stories about the sad state of our schools. I live in a solidly middle-class neighbourhood in a solidly middle-class suburb. While the local school is certainly not the poorest, it’s also far from the richest. How bad would conditions be?

In spite of my fears and my feeling that I wasn’t really adequately researching my options, we have been very happy with our public school experience. Of course, it’s only one school, in one district, in one province in Canada. And so anything that I share is anecdotal, and specific to our situation. Still, the way that kindergarten has been approached at our school has impressed me at every turn. Here are some things I really love about our public school experience so far:

1. It’s social: At this stage, Hannah’s teacher is focused primarily on helping the children adjust to the school experience, and develop good social skills. Their report cards don’t have letter grades, and there isn’t any pressure that I’ve seen to perform academically. There are undoubtedly educational objectives, but at this point they’re mostly about helping the children understand the routines and rhythms of school, and participate in those.
2. It’s adaptive: Hannah’s class did a unit on crows in the fall. The children were playing outside and they saw a bunch of crows picking through the garbage left on the playground. They started asking questions, and a project was born. The teacher had a crow puppet that was funny and engaging. They wrote stories about crows, read books about crows, drew pictures of crows, built scarecrows and held a crow party. I love how they adapted and followed the children’s interests.
3. It’s welcoming to me: Parents are welcome at Hannah’s school. You need to be screened to be a regular classroom helper, but even if you haven’t done that, you’re allowed to be present with your child in the classroom. Parental involvement is encouraged, and I feel like I’m included when I’m there. I realize being at school during the day isn’t possible for everyone, but I like knowing that I’m welcome if I can swing it.
4. It’s local: We can walk to Hannah’s school, which is lovely. But even better, the kids that Hannah meets at school live nearby. I have very fond memories of playing with the neighbourhood kids from my own childhood. I know the fact that we all went to school together helped to cement those bonds of friendship. I’m glad Hannah can have the same thing.
5. It’s a community: At Hannah’s school children in the intermediate grades are often paired up with children in the primary grades. They do all kinds of things together, and because of that Hannah knows many older children at her school. It really isn’t the case that the children spend all their time with one teacher and one age group. They’re working hard to make everyone feel that they are part of the same community.
6. It’s diverse: Because public school is free and open to everyone, there are a wide variety of children from a wide variety of backgrounds at Hannah’s school. I appreciate that Hannah attends school with children from different cultural, religious and economic backgrounds. I think she’s learning how to interact with different people, and she’s gaining a richer school experience than I did in my more monochromatic childhood.

We all need to choose the school (or no school) setting that works best for our family. I certainly don’t think that public school is the best fit for every child. But I have been very happy to see that my default choice has worked so well for my daughter. I no longer feel sheepish to admit that she attends the local public school. It’s really a fabulous learning environment, and I am very happy that Hannah has found a place in it.

What do you love about your child’s school setting? What has been the best part of your experience? And how much time and energy did you invest in researching and choosing it? I’d love to hear your thoughts!