Orientation
September 27, 2000
7:40 a.m.
Lisa and I went to Brigid's school for parent orientation last night. There were maybe forty or fifty sets of parents there, a number that actually represents probably 75% of the school population when you take into account multiple kids in single families. It was a strange night, really. This is Brigid's last year in this school. She's been here since kindergarten. Seven years. The school has changed a lot since then. Not surprising, of course. It's a small school. It changes with its personnel. I look at the school now with a different eye than I used to. Part of it is because I've sat on their Executive Committee for a couple years now, and seen how it operates. Part of it is because I'm better able to look at things and understand them. It's a good school. It puts out kids that are polished and intelligent, and that are generally pretty far ahead of other kids when they go on to different schools. Still, it's a small school. And it's a big world. When you're a parent to a little one, you make your decisions and you go on. And you hope you did right. You hope you set the on a firm path to experiencing the world on their own terms. It's the best you can do, really. So we went from room to room. I listened to the teachers talk about their approach, but admittedly didn't get much out of it except face time. I mean, if I don't know pretty much what was going on by now, there isn't much hope for me. But the teachers were great. I enjoyed their enthusiasm and their professionalism, and their obvious desire to be doing what they are doing with their lives. It makes a difference, you know? I love being with people who like what they are doing--who love their job. These people are the strength of the school. They are its face. They are its soul. At the end we walked out into the night. A floodlight splayed light onto the black asphalt from behind us. It was cool and the air was thick with dew. Lisa got in the car next to me. I started the engine. "Better hit the windshield wipers," she said. The windshield was foggy with dew. I did the wipers. They helped, but there was fog on the inside, too, so I hit the defroster and we sat there talking about the school and the people and the problems that really aren't problems when you look at them just right. I thought about Brigid. She has turned into an incredible young lady. Pretty soon, the center of the window had cleared. Sure, there was still fog at the edges and the center was that liquidy precise view that swims for a minute before the wipers get to it. I put the car in gear and edged out. "Can you see?" Lisa asked. "Well enough," I said. And I pulled the car out, leaving the school disappearing into the nighttime darkness   Have a great day.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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Check out Amy Casil's collection Without Absolution While you're at it, check out "A Matter of Pride" in Polish |
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