I am more than halfway through the last year of dropping one of my children off at school. It's my eighth grade daughter, for anyone keeping track of my family.
See, next year she will be at the high school, and her brother will drive her. He says that it's not cool for seniors to drive their freshman sister to school, but I bet it's cooler than being dropped off by your mom in a minivan.
So rather than groan about this daily responsibility, I've been reminiscing about what the drop-off line used to look like, way back in elementary school. Once our children were about halfway through their elementary years, the drop-off line became a test of patience.
Do you know which group you do not want to get caught behind in the parent drop-off line at an elementary school? The kindergartners. These little ones are barely able to walk, but now we put them in the high-pressure situation of trying to unbuckle their seat-belt, grab their backpack (which might be as tall as they are), and a lunch box. Then we expect them to be able to land on their feet when exiting these SUV tanks we call family vehicles.
Even worse was when the mom or dad would get OUT of their vehicle to walk all the way around and help their little one out of the vehicle. Or to offer one more loving hug. I know, gross.
Allow me a brief pause to offer some biographical information. For the larger part of our adult lives, Jen has worked with little children, and I have worked with teenagers. We have often crossed over and assisted one another, which has left us with lots of available research and one big conclusion.
Teens and toddlers are more similar than we realize.
Someday we'll write a book about it, and I guarantee this thought will be a chapter. Because when I started dropping my children off at middle school, I was deeply incorrect for assuming that twelve to fourteen year old teenagers would all be able to quickly and deftly get out of their mommy's car.
And do you know who is the middle school equivalent of a kindergartner?
It's the band kids. I'm telling you, I've done my research. Nine times out of ten, if there is a slow-down in the parent drop-off line, I'm watching as a kid with an instrument comes out of that vehicle. Don't start to feel empathetic as if it's only big instruments. I'm talking about flutes and clarinets as well as saxophones and trombones.
It's also the kids that don't realize that more than one vehicle can unload at a time. We have half a mile of drop-off area available to us, where five vehicles can unload at the same time, but there are way too many teens who believe they have to get out only at the spot directly in front of the door.
All of this has me thinking. What would people think of you if they could hear the things you shout in your car when you're all alone? Sometimes we can see that a driver is angry. But not always. I have perfected a smile as I nod at your band kid after they take ten minutes to exit your vehicle. Internally, I'm questioning a few things, including their ability to survive a school day at normal speed. I'm also questioning my ability to maintain my sanity.
The Bible says love is patient. I have a long ways to go.
Comments