It's that day. The day where I drop off my (not so) little boy on his first day of his very first camp. He's just two weeks shy of turning 6. He's so big now. Full of ideas and questions.
I wasn't sure how it would go today. Would he cry? Would he cling to my leg like he did only a couple of years ago when I dropped him off at pre-school? He seemed completely unfazed as we approached the registration table. I thought to myself, "he's going to be okay." Then, I grabbed his hand as we walked over to his group. That's when I felt it - a little bit of trepidation as he sees the other kids and the coaches - his grip on my hand tightened ever so slightly. I was glad I felt it because I kept holding his hand so he knows I'm with him.
After introductions with the coaches and our usual hug and kiss good-bye, I realized we weren't holding hands anymore. I'm not sure if he let go first or I did. However, as I drove away and got a glimpse of his beautiful sunlit face, I knew he was the one who let go when the time came. He was laughing (probably at something one of the coaches said) with his arms hugging his knees. Perhaps he was still nervous but he knew how to embrace his fear and have courage - something his Baba instills in him often.
At the sight of my brave Buddy, I got teary, all out of love. Oh boy! This Mama will be a mess on the first day of first grade in August! Yes, it's always the case, isn't it? I'm the one who needs to learn to let go.
No comments:
Post a Comment