I mean, clearly I don't have a bow and arrow. I've just got the past 11.9 years of parenting. She's going to be fine. She's amazing. But it's middle school. It's sixth grade. It's new, it's scary, it's wonderful.
When I was in sixth grade. It was a different world. Here are some of the things I remember;
- The Berlin Wall hadn't fallen yet. It would.
- I was the IT guy for the 7th and 8th grade classes since I knew how to reboot a IBM 286.
- An offhand comment by my teacher propelled me to a second place finish in the full school Geography Bee.
- The Twins had just won the World Series and I believed in baseball and miracles.
- Image Comics was more important to me than DC or Marvel combined.
- I experienced most movies through recess recounts by my best friend.
- I had no idea what I was doing.
I think that if I am honest, I had it pretty easy. No social media. No expectation of civil activism. No global warming on my mind. No big questions of immigration and terrorism. No thought of gender roles. No concern if the Twins might ever win a division again. Kids today have Netflix instead of their best friend's recess account.
But none of us have any idea what we are doing.
That's probably the one truth. We are all just stumbling about, trying our best.
Which is pretty damn good. Trying is harder than we admit.
I know that my daughter is going to be ok. She's going to thrive. She is excited. Her school will provide her with so many good opportunities.
I worked the fair this weekend. Partly for extra $ and partly because when I work the fair, part of me is back at my first job. 15. Selling fried ice cream in a trailer. Dealing with my first breakup. Fighting through being both a kid and man. Searching.
Every time I am at the fair. Part of me is that 15 year old kid. It was a great and horrible summer. Early on, it was the first time I openly cried in front of a friend. Who passed a soccer ball to me repeatedly and let me kick the crap of it in tears and never judged, never questioned. It was the summer of my first job. Of working for someone, of trying to do it well. Of answering a thousand questions like...."Fried Ice Cream? Don't it melt?!"
It was a weird summer. It was a great summer.
So many are.
This summer ends in 4 hours. She's in middle school. He's in 4th grade. The memories of my challenges seem small. I only want them to have the chance to face their own and someday write a silly self serving blog about it when their kids are in school...
Summer will end. They will grow. I'm still growing.
It's terrifying. It's an adventure. Middle school. Fried Ice Cream. Life.
I have to trust. Something. Trust fate. Trust life. Trust a higher power.
Because they've already been very clear I can't enroll as a sixth grader tomorrow.
