“How ya feelin’, buddy?” I asked Mason the following evening as I drove slowly down the street in front of his elementary school. It was already lined with cars, and I could see a steady stream of families trickling toward the front doors for the open house orientation. I slowed to a stop at the crosswalk as a woman hurried her two kids across the street. Their backpacks looked as heavy as Mason’s. Glancing up into the rearview mirror, I smiled at my son’s reflection. “Are you excited? Nervous? Little bit of both?”
He just shrugged his shoulders as he stared out the window, watching the other kids and their parents make their way up the sidewalk.
“What’s the matter, kiddo? Cat got your tongue?” Dawn asked, twisting around in the passenger seat so she could see Mason buckled into his booster in the back.
He cracked a smile and stuck out his tongue to show her that it was, in fact, still intact. But his silence told me he was more than a little apprehensive about meeting his new teacher.
Once the crosswalk was clear, I crept forward, feeling slightly guilty as I drove past the people on foot and turned into the parking lot, which appeared to be full except for the few handicapped spaces at the front. I pulled into one of them, my tires squealing over the wet pavement as I applied the brakes.
A thunderstorm had blown through that afternoon, delaying Natalie’s flight home by an hour. The rain had since stopped, and the wind had died down, but the sun remained hidden behind the thick layer of low-hanging clouds that lingered in the dreary, gray sky. A cold front had swept across Kentucky, causing the temperature to drop from the upper eighties into the low seventies in less than an hour.
“It’s like you took all the warmth and light with you when you left,” I’d told Natalie when she texted to let me know she had landed safely in Atlanta. Her two-day trips to see me never seemed to last long enough, and it was getting harder and harder to say goodbye. It had only been a few hours since I’d dropped her off at the airport, but I was already counting down the days until I could see her again. Getting Mason ready for his first week of kindergarten would be a good distraction. “Well, here we are,” I said brightly, turning off the truck’s ignition. “Let’s go inside and find your classroom!”
Dawn climbed out and helped get Mason and his heavy bookbag out of the back while I used the lift to lower myself to the ground. I was grateful for a break from the oppressive summer heat, but when the unseasonably cool, damp air hit my bare arms, it gave me goosebumps. Shivering a little, I wished I had put on an extra layer before we left the house, but I knew my arms would warm up once I started wheeling myself around.
“Want Daddy to carry your bag?” I asked Mason as we met behind the truck. “We could put it on the back of my chair.”
“No. I can do it.” Grunting, he hoisted his bulging backpack, stuffed full of brand new school supplies, onto his thin shoulders.
“Suit yourself.” I hit the button to lock my truck, and we headed toward the entrance.
“Don’t jump in the puddles,” I heard Dawn warn Mason as they walked across the parking lot. “You don’t want your new shoes getting soaked.” I wanted to tell her I didn’t care if my kid’s tennis shoes got wet – life was short, and, to a five-year-old, puddles were meant for splashing – but I held my tongue, refusing to undermine her in front of him. Usually, Dawn was the more laidback one when it came to discipline, but she had always shown me the same level of respect. Whenever we disagreed on how to handle a situation with Mason, she deferred to me. “You’re the parent here,” she would say, holding up her hands as if to wash them of all authority. “You get the final word.”
Even so, I was glad to have her there with me that evening. Although I was more than capable of taking Mason to the school by myself, I had begged Dawn to come along for moral support. “Please… I have no idea what I’m doing,” I’d admitted. “You’ve been in this position before.”
“Well, yeah, but that was almost twenty years ago,” she’d said with a wistful laugh. “I’m sure school has changed a bit since Michael started kindergarten. I promise you, there will be plenty of other first-time parents there who also have no idea what they’re doing.”
Yes, but I bet most of them will have partners, I’d thought. Looking around as we joined the line of people filing through the front doors, I realized I wasn’t quite right. There were a lot of couples escorting their kids to the orientation, of course, but I also saw plenty of parents who appeared to be flying solo. Most of them were moms, though; I didn’t notice any other single dads in line. It was times like these that I missed Kristin the most. Sending our son off to kindergarten was yet another milestone that I would have to commemorate without her by my side. Instead, Dawn stood next to me as we waited in the crowded lobby. Mason stayed close to her side, clinging to her hand.
Behind us, I heard another kid ask, “Momma, what’s wrong with that man?”
“Shh!” a woman’s voice hissed. “Don’t stare. You’re bein’ rude.” She spoke in a whisper, but I still heard every word and realized they were talking about me. By now, it was a familiar scene: the mortified mom trying to hush her inquisitive child.
Four years ago, when I was fresh out of rehab, I would have felt just as embarrassed as she sounded. I probably would have pretended I hadn’t heard them and ignored the whole exchange. But I wasn’t quite as self-conscious as I had been then, so instead, I glanced back over my shoulder to see a little boy standing next to a young woman with black hair.
“I’m so sorry,” she immediately apologized to me, her cheeks flushing as I turned my chair around to face them.
“It’s okay,” I replied, offering her a reassuring smile before I focused my attention on the boy. “My legs don’t work anymore, so I use this wheelchair to get around.”
“Why don’t they work?” he wanted to know.
“I got hurt in an accident a few years ago.” I had learned it was best to leave out the details and keep my answers short and simple when trying to explain my disability to young children. The little boy looked to be about Mason’s age. “So, what grade are you gonna be in?” I asked him, changing the subject.
He looked to his mother. “Kindergarten,” she answered for him.
“Really? My son Mason’s starting kindergarten, too.” I reached out and put my arm around Mason, who had turned around to see who I was talking to. “Maybe you’ll be in the same class.”
“That would be nice.” The mom smiled, looking slightly more relaxed. “This is Jaden, by the way,” she added, resting her hand on her son’s shoulder, “and I’m his momma, Brandi.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, nodding my head at her. “I’m Kevin.”
If she knew who I was, she didn’t make it obvious. “Nice to meet you, too, Kevin. Thanks for bein’ so kind to my boy.” She gave me a meaningful look before glancing down at Jaden. “We’re still workin’ on manners at home.”
I chuckled. “No problem. I get questions like that all the time. I don’t consider it rude when it’s coming from a kid; it’s natural for them to be curious. Honestly, I’d rather they ask than try to avoid me altogether the way most adults do.”
Brandi’s face flushed again, and she quickly dropped her gaze, suddenly seeming to be fascinated by the freshly-waxed floor tiles under her feet.
Yeah… like that, I thought, fighting the urge to laugh. Thankfully, the line started moving again, so I turned my chair around to roll myself forward, sparing us both from any further awkwardness.
We passed through another pair of doors, where the principal was waiting to welcome everyone. He took the time to say hello and introduce himself before he directed us to the cafeteria.
“How is that guy even old enough to be a principal?” Dawn asked me in a whisper as we followed the other families down a wide, gleaming hallway. “He looks like he just graduated high school! Everyone looks a whole lot younger than they did the last time I went to one of these things. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was getting old.”
I chuckled. “How do you think I feel? Here I am, about to turn forty-one with a kid who’s barely five. Hell, I’ve probably got a decade on most of the other kindergarten parents. That mom I was talking to back there couldn’t have been over thirty.”
“Nothing wrong with being a late bloomer,” Dawn said, patting my back as I pushed myself into the cafeteria.
I remembered saying the same sort of thing to Kristin when she’d cried over an ultrasound technician using the term “geriatric pregnancy” at one of her appointments when we were expecting Mason. At the time, I’d told her it wasn’t a big deal; women were having babies well into their forties and fifties nowadays, so becoming a mom a month shy of thirty-seven was nothing. But, in hindsight, I wished we had started trying for children years earlier so she would have had more time to experience motherhood before she was taken from us.
“Welcome, dragons!” I glanced up to see a perky woman in a red polo shirt approaching us. She pointed to the dragon mascot embroidered on the left side of her shirt as she bent down to Mason’s level. “Are you fired up for a fun year of learning?”
Mason nodded, open-mouthed.
“Me, too!” Smiling, she straightened up and handed Dawn a packet of paper. “Have a seat at any table and fill out this information packet for us first. Then you’ll take it with you to give to your child’s teacher when y’all go to his classroom,” she told her. All she said to me was, “Thanks for coming tonight!”
I’m sure she assumed that Dawn was Mason’s mother, but I didn’t bother to correct her. In fact, I let Dawn fill out the forms for me because it was faster and easier than trying to do it myself. Even with an adaptive cuff that helped me hold a pen, writing by hand was a painstakingly slow process, and my penmanship was hardly legible.
When Dawn finished with the paperwork, we left the cafeteria and found our way to the kindergarten classrooms. I felt the familiar stares following me as I wheeled myself through the halls. The parents were almost worse than the kids; more than a few adults did double takes as they walked past me. I never knew if it was because they wanted to gawk at my wheelchair or because they had recognized my face. Maybe a bit of both.
Mason seemed oblivious to the stares, but Dawn definitely noticed. “Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” I heard her mutter under her breath when an entire family – a mom, a dad, and two older boys – stopped talking and turned to look at me. I’d seen a woman in the cafeteria do just that, pretending to take a picture of her daughter while I was sitting at the table directly behind her. None of them had the nerve to approach me while I was with my son, which I appreciated, although I would have preferred a nice, normal conversation over their covert attempts to watch me from a distance like I was some kind of rare creature. I tried to ignore them, focusing on the colorful bulletin boards and back-to-school displays on the walls outside each classroom as we went past.
Mason’s teacher was waiting at the door to greet us. She couldn’t have been out of college long, but with her yellow polka dot dress and red pumps, she certainly looked like an elementary school teacher. “Welcome to kindergarten!” she said with a bright smile. “I’m Miss Jewell. What’s your name?”
“Mason,” he answered shyly.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mason!” She shook his hand. “And who did you bring with you tonight? Is this your mom and dad?”
“No. My mom’s in Heaven.”
I felt bad for his teacher, who looked mortified by his matter-of-fact response. As her face flushed, I cleared my throat and said, “I’m Mason’s dad, Kevin. This is his nanny, Dawn. She lives with us full-time, so I thought it would be good for her to come along, too.”
“Of course!” Recovering from her misstep, Miss Jewell hurried forward to shake our hands as well. “I’m happy you’re here!”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Dawn said, handing her the information packet.
“You, too! I’m looking forward to a great year!” the teacher replied eagerly as her eyes dropped from Dawn to me. If she recognized my face or name, she pretended not to, treating me with the same polite professionalism as she would any other parent. I wasn’t sure she was even old enough to know or care about the Backstreet Boys anyway. “Feel free to take a look around, find Mason’s cubby, and drop off any school supplies you brought tonight,” she said as she ushered us into her classroom. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
A few other families were already in the room, which was big but cluttered. I could barely navigate my wheelchair around the low, rectangular tables that sat in the middle, surrounded by little chairs. Each student’s assigned place was labeled with a nametag, and Mason had fun trotting from table to table to look for his name. He finally found the tag with M-a-s-o-n printed in the perfect manuscript handwriting all elementary school teachers seem to possess. Once I’d taken a picture of him sitting in his chair, we made our way over to the wall of wooden cubbies, each with a hook for hanging up coats and bookbags. Dawn helped Mason unpack his supplies and put them in his cubby as I looked around. I recognized Jaden and his mom Brandi on the other side of the room, where there was a play area with toys and a cozy reading corner with floor cushions, a colorful rug, and short bookcases filled with picture books that had been categorized and placed in colorful bins.
Mason enjoyed exploring the space so much that he didn’t want to leave when I told him it was time to go home. “Can’t we stay a little longer?” he pleaded, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes from his crouched position on the floor, where he and Jaden were building a tower out of big, wooden blocks. He had so few opportunities to play with other kids his age outside of school that I hated to pull him away from the fun, but the open house was supposed to end at seven – which, according to the clock on the wall, was in five minutes’ time.
“Sorry, buddy, but we’d better get out of here so your teacher can head home soon, too,” I said, glancing toward the door, where Miss Jewell was busy talking to Jaden’s mom. “C’mon… help Jaden clean up the blocks before we go.”
Reluctantly, Mason did as he was told.
“So, what do you think?” I asked him as we drove home. “Are you excited to start kindergarten next week?”
This time, he nodded eagerly as he watched the playground pass by his window. “I can’t wait!”
Giving me a sidelong glance, Dawn grinned. “Good thing that pesky cat finally let go of his tongue.”
I laughed and looked up into the rearview mirror, relieved to see a smile on Mason’s face. He seemed ready for school to start. I just hoped I was ready, too.
***
Mason’s first day of school dawned cloudy and cool. I made him put on a zip-up sweatshirt over his t-shirt and shorts before we left the house. “You can take it off at lunchtime,” I told him, “but, this way, you won’t get cold if your class goes outside this morning.”
“Okay,” he grudgingly agreed.
“We’d better get moving,” said Dawn, who hadn’t stopped moving all morning. She had already been up for two hours, trying to get everyone ready on time. While I’d lain awake, waiting for her to come in and help me get out of bed, I’d heard her bustling around the kitchen, making coffee, fixing breakfast, and packing Mason’s lunch. She had been darting between bedrooms for the past hour, making sure Mason was up and progressing through his own morning routine while she helped me with mine. As much as I hated to admit it, my five-year-old was more independent than me. “Put on your shoes, Mason.”
Mason plopped down on the floor to pull them on. “Wrong foot, silly,” I said, smiling as I watched him try to cram his left foot into the right shoe. He hastily reversed them and fastened the Velcro straps across the front. Dawn was still trying to teach him how to tie his own shoelaces, but I had decided it would be easier for him to wear shoes without laces to school until he learned.
Once he’d finished putting the left shoe on, Mason scrambled to his feet. “Okay, let’s go now!” he said eagerly, grabbing his empty bookbag from its hook by the back door.
“Don’t forget your lunchbox.” Dawn handed it to him. “Do you wanna take some pictures before we leave?” she asked me on our way out the door.
“Oh, yeah!” I felt grateful to have her around to remind me of things like first-day-of-school photos. I was so focused on getting Mason to school on time that I probably would have forgotten.
As I fumbled for my phone, Dawn slipped hers out of her purse. “Here, I can take them,” she offered. She snapped a few photos of Mason standing alone on the front porch with his bookbag on his back and his lunchbox in hand. Then she had me join him and took some of the two of us together.
“Aww…” I smiled as she showed me the photos on her phone. “Those are…” I started to say “perfect,” but changed my mind mid-sentence. “-great,” I said instead. Family photos would never be perfect without Kristin to complete the picture. A lump rose in my throat as I looked at the empty space on Mason’s other side, where she should have been standing. I imagined her beaming with pride, her brown eyes twinkling with a sheen of unshed tears as she put her arm around him. I wished she were there to share this big day with me. Our baby’s first day of kindergarten… I cleared my throat. “Thanks for taking them,” I told Dawn. “Now let me get one of you and Mason together.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Dawn said, her face flushing as she shook her head. “I look like a hot mess.” As usual, she had spent so much time helping Mason and me get ready that she hadn’t put any effort into her own appearance. She had thrown on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, her unwashed hair was pulled back into a frizzy ponytail, and she wore no makeup.
“Oh, c’mon, just one picture. Please?”
I finally managed to persuade her to pose for a picture with Mason, though she insisted on standing behind him, positioning him strategically in front of her to hide as much of her body as she could. It still turned out to be a cute photo of the two of them, Mason grinning toothily as Dawn bent down and hugged him from behind, her chin resting on the top of his head. Despite her hesitation and his impatience, they both looked happy.
“You better text that to me before you delete it from your phone,” I told Dawn with a warning tone once I’d finished showing it to her.
“Aw, I won’t delete it. That one’s a keeper,” she admitted, flashing me a sheepish grin as she shoved her phone back into her purse. Then we all piled into my truck for the trip into town.
Mason’s school was located on the outskirts of Lexington, so it only took us about fifteen minutes to get there. The long line of cars waiting to drop off kids stretched all the way from the circle drive at the back of the building to the street in front, spanning the entire length of the large parking lot. It took ten more minutes for us to make it to the front of the line.
As we approached the drop-off spot, I felt a surge of panic. I had planned to park and escort Mason to the door on the first day, wanting to make sure he didn’t get lost in the crowd of kids going to their classrooms, but a cursory glance into my rearview mirror revealed a considerable line of vehicles still waiting behind me. I would only block traffic and slow things down even more if I took the time to get out and back into my truck. But the thought of not being able to hug my son goodbye before he left filled me with an unexpected sense of grief.
Was this what all parents went through when they sent their firstborn off to school, I wondered, or were my emotions somehow heightened because of my past experiences? I would never forget Kristin kissing six-month-old Mason goodbye and walking out the door with tears in her eyes. “I’ve never not been there to rock him to sleep,” I remembered her saying as we climbed into my car, ready to ring in the new year together.
“You’ll be there when he wakes up in the morning,” I had replied without a worry or doubt in my mind. Those words still haunted me – because, despite my reassurances, Kristin had not returned to the house the next morning. Mason would never see his mother again, and I would never take another goodbye for granted. Having learned the hard way how suddenly life can change, I always made a point to hug the people I loved and say a proper goodbye before I left to go anywhere.
Dawn must have sensed my anxiety or seen the signs of it written across my face. When we pulled up to the curb where the school staff was on hand to help students out of cars, she glanced over at me and said, “How about I hop out real quick and make sure Mason gets to where he needs to go?”
I gave her a grateful nod. “Yeah… sounds good.” Glancing into the rearview mirror again, I caught Mason’s eye. “C’mere and give Daddy a kiss goodbye before you get out,” I said, tapping the side of my face as I turned it toward him. With a click, he unbuckled his seat belt, stuck his head between the two front seats, and planted a big, wet kiss on my cheek. “Thanks, buddy,” I said, fighting back tears. “Have a great first day of school, okay? I love you.”
“Love you!” Mason called as he climbed out of the truck, dragging his bookbag by the handle on top.
Dawn was waiting on the sidewalk. “Don’t forget your lunchbox,” I heard her say again as she reached into the back seat to grab it for him. Then she closed the door. I could only watch with tears in my eyes as she gave Mason a big hug and handed him off to one of the helpers, who smiled and waved at me as she put her other hand on Mason’s shoulder to steer him away from the curb. I forced myself to smile and wave back, swallowing the hard lump that had swelled in my throat as I watched them walk toward the big brick building.
Dawn climbed back into the truck. “That teacher’s going to take him to Miss Jewell’s class,” she told me, pulling her seatbelt across her lap.
“Good. Thanks, Dawn.”
The thickness of my voice must have given me away. She took one look at my face, then flashed me a sympathetic smile. “It’s tough, isn’t it, sending them out into the world?” she said knowingly.
I simply nodded as the tears started to flow, blurring my vision. A horn honked behind me, and, flustered, I hurriedly reached for my hand controls. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” I muttered, glaring into the rearview mirror as I shifted the truck into gear. “Hold your damn horses…”
I pulled out of the school parking lot without a clue as to where I was going. I knew where I was, of course, but I felt strangely aimless. What now? I wondered as I drove down the street. According to the clock on the dashboard, it was only a quarter till eight. I had seven hours to kill until the school day ended, and I didn’t know what to do to fill the time. The rest of the day’s itinerary stretched in front of me, empty except for my physical therapy session that afternoon. I would be finished just in time to pick Mason up from school.
“Feel like going out for breakfast?” Dawn’s words interrupted my train of thought. “My treat.”
I turned to see her smiling at me. I didn’t feel hungry, but I understood that she was trying to fill the time more than my stomach and appreciated her efforts to take my mind off missing Mason. “Sure,” I said, smiling back at her through my tears. “That sounds good. Where do you wanna go?”
“Anywhere that won’t care if I look like a slob,” she said with a shrug, glancing down at her faded t-shirt.
I chuckled and turned left at the next light, taking her to a casual diner that served excellent food. “I dunno about being a stay-at-home dad to a school-age kid,” I admitted to Dawn as we lingered over breakfast. “It’s gonna be weird going home to an empty house; I’m not used to him being gone for more than a few hours. What did you do with yourself all day when Michael went to school?”
She raised her eyebrows at me. “Well, let’s see… I cleaned the house. I did laundry and dishes and yard work. I got groceries, ran errands, went to appointments, took classes, and studied to become a CNA. To be honest, I don’t remember actually having much time to sit in front of the TV and eat bonbons.”
I laughed. “Wow. That sounds like a lot.”
“Yeah. Ask any stay-at-home mom, and they’ll tell you something similar. But, technically, you’re not a stay-at-home dad now that you’re working again.”
“No, but you know what I mean. I don’t exactly have a normal, nine-to-five kind of job. Other than writing songs and practicing the piano, there’s usually not much I can do without the other guys around.”
“So do that. Or, I dunno, find a new hobby. Or, hey, here’s an idea – if you get really bored, you can always help me out with chores around the house,” she said with a grin.
I knew she was just joking, but I hated the fact that I couldn’t physically help her more. I tried to make myself useful by occasionally folding laundry, unloading the dishwasher, or dragging a dust mop across the floor, but everything was so much harder for me and took me so much longer that, most days, Dawn seemed to prefer doing it all herself. Of course, keeping house was part of what I paid her to do, but I wished I didn’t have to.
After breakfast, we went back to the house, where I messed around in my music room for a while until it was time to head to the rehab hospital where I did my outpatient therapy.
“Mason started kindergarten this morning,” I told Corey while he was helping me transfer to the therapy table.
“Hey, that’s exciting! How ya feelin’ about it?” he asked, guiding my hips as I scooted across the sliding board.
“I’ve got mixed emotions,” I admitted, already breathing hard from the effort of hauling around the heavy sack of bones that was my lower body. “On one hand, I’m happy for him, but it sure was hard to let him go this morning. I can’t believe how big he’s getting… how fast he’s growing up…”
Corey smiled. “I don’t have kids, but I hear my friends who are parents say stuff like that all the time.” He helped position me, lifting my legs onto the table and lowering my upper body safely to the padded surface so I was lying flat on my back. “I dunno if it gets easier or harder as they get older.”
“Easier, I hope.” I let out a sigh and looked at the ceiling as he began to bend and stretch my limbs.
An hour later, I left the hospital and headed back to the school, where there was another long car line winding its way out of the parking lot. I joined the crowd of parents waiting to pick up their kids, carefully pulling forward until I saw Mason come running toward my truck. I parked close to the curb and unlocked the doors to let him in. “Hey, buddy!” I said happily, glancing into the mirror as he scrambled into the back seat.
He looked different from the clean, well-dressed kid in the pictures Dawn had taken on the front porch. His face was flushed and sweaty, his hands were grubby, his blond hair was sticking straight up in the back, and there was a mysterious orange stain on the front of his t-shirt that hadn’t been there that morning. The sweatshirt I’d made him wear was nowhere to be seen; I hoped he’d remembered to put it in his bookbag to bring home.
“How was your first day?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for his answer.
Despite his disheveled appearance, Mason grinned. “Great!”
And, despite my own reservations, I was happy to hear his answer. As I put the truck in drive and pulled away from the curb, I released my breath with a sigh of relief. “Good. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
***