I remember the day he got on that bus to go to kindergarten. I walked home from that bus stop with a baby on my hip and one tagging closely behind and called my husband in tears saying, “My heart just drove away on a yellow school bus.”

That year was hard. I can still see his face when he sat his little body on his big bed and told us, “I don’t like learning!” But, somehow, he did it; he learned. It was painful at times, but he learned. He learned how to hold a pencil and to make marks on a paper that are called letters that come together to form words that allow him to share his thoughts with other people. He learned how to tap his numbers so he could add them up and why math matters in the first place. He learned to work together on a team and to get along with kids with whom he may not naturally connect. He learned how to follow rules and when rules can be negotiated. He learned that it is not a sign of weakness or failure to ask for help. Everyday, he learned. And, at some point over the last 5 years of his elementary career, he stopped not liking learning and starting liking who he was and what he could do as he learned.

All that learning happened in the context of relationship with teachers who hung in there when even I was ready to put my head down on the desk in 7-up style and not look up again.

I’ve heard Evan give the quintessential kid answer.

“You’re in fifth grade? Who’s your teacher?”

“Mrs. Huxta”

“Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice.” (with a little smile and shoulder shrug)

Thank you for being nice, for investing in my little boy while I can still call him my little boy, for seeing he can do more than he thought he could do and for celebrating when he did, for giving him independence but allowing him to still be a child.

We’re about to enter something big come fall—a big building with more than one gym, with a cafeteria where kids can sit wherever they want, a world of locker combinations and midterms, and girls (!). The days of being asked “Who’s your teacher?” are over as he moves from classroom to classroom. Thank you for being the teacher to send him off, to prepare him for his first step out of boyhood. You’ve held his hand and, in so doing, have held my hand too.

Have a wonderful summer with your own children as you get reenergized to come back again in the fall to serve twenty or so other children and their families. I hope you know you are right where you should be.

I was minding my own business, sitting on his bed, saying goodnight, when he socked me with it.

“We’re supposed to have art class tomorrow. But, instead, they are splitting up the boys and girls to have some sort of meeting, something about growing up. I don’t know what they’re talking about it.”

Uh..eee..hmmm…here it goes.

“Oh, right. [never let ’em see you sweat] They’re probably talking to you about puberty.”

“Puberty…yeah, that’s it. That’s the word they used.”

“Right. Well, they’ll probably talk to you about how your body changes and stuff as you get older. I’m not really the expert on that since I’m a girl. But, Daddy can talk to you more about that so you know what they’re talking about.”

When in doubt, I call in the reinforcement who is not nearly as verbal as I am and wasn’t giving me nearly enough details when I grilled him about it 10 minutes later. It went well. He’s fine. It’s cool. I was told that he’s excited to “be a man” and that he reports that the only girl he’ll ever like is Mojo our cat.

Okay, I’m good. We’re good.

Whatever preparatory words Dad shared must have helped because he came home pretty proud of himself with his packet with fill in the blanks about body hair, voice changes, sweat, and pimples and—most importantly—his very own deodorant.

“Apparently middle school doesn’t like stinky things,” he informed me. “Smell it. It smells like the beach.”

I think every member of the family got to smell it too. When Drew asked him if he was going to use it tomorrow, Evan answered all cool-like, “Maybe,” just like a boy who’d be old enough to wear this stuff.

When I put him to bed tonight, I asked, “So…do you have any questions about what you talked about today? How do you feel about all that?”

“Fine. I have a question. What did the girls talk about?”

Between this and the impromptu mini-sex talk I had with Ashlyn in the car today after passing our veterinarian’s office, I’m ready for a stiff drink [ice water on the rocks, most likely, if I’m honest] and bed.