by J.A. Jennings

Created on: March 07, 2009   Last Updated: August 21, 2009

Mrs. Allen opens the door to her Kindergarten classroom and instantly her cool, calm smile soothes the raw nerves of the waiting children and their parents, myself included, on that first day. She greets us and tries to quiet the children, a diverse group of four and five year-olds. A petite blonde girl wears her first-day-of-school dress and a pair of frilly ankle socks. Her face expresses excited apprehension. A tall, dark-haired boy pushes his glasses up on his nose and looks at his mom with bucket-sized tears welling in his eyes; while another boy with a bad case of "bed head" asks Mrs. Allen what time schools ends.

My first child, Grant, stands in line with his polo-style shirt and a pair of navy blue shorts, too-white Buzz Lightyear sneakers, and copious amounts of gel in his wavy brown hair. He distracts the quiet boy in front of him with animated stories of blueberry waffles and concludes by poking the boy in the eye. I wince and try to evaporate into the air, while giving Grant the laser-eyes look of death, but his teacher moves in and swiftly diffuses the precarious situation, while flashing me a look of, "Don't worry, this is what happens in Kindergarten. I've got it." Immediately, I love this woman.

The days pass by quickly and the routine of Kindergarten begins to set in to our lives. The most prominent change I notice about Kindergarten is the influence of others on my child. Up until this time my husband and I controlled the type of information orbiting around his innocent world-books, television shows, playmates, language, music, and food. He attended a preschool program, but the setting was small, nurturing, and more controlled than I ever imagined. If we didn't show Grant that snacks such as "Gogurt" and "Twinkies" existed, he had no idea there were such sugary delights. If we didn't say "butthead" and "fart," neither did he. Kindergarten was a whole new eye-opening adventure.

One day Grant, his two year-old sister, and I ventured to the grocery store after school. As we walked the aisles filling our cart we stumbled upon the dairy section, and there it was, a red, blue and orange box of Gogurt-a child's dream of gooey heaven. My own dream about the snack involved sugar and dye-induced hyperactivity, but I'm not five. The colorful yogurt must have screamed out Grant's name because he ran toward it like a boy on fire. He proceeded to tell me how "everyone" at school brings Gogurt for snack and how he was the "only one" not allowed to buy Gogurt. His sister chimed in, too. I felt attacked and pressured. It's only yogurt, I think to myself; some day it could be about drugs and alcohol and cigarettes. As my mind raced through the coming decade of my son's life, he looked up at me and said, "Just one box Mom?" I caved, just once.

Kindergarten, and parenting in general, once again force me to loosen my grip on the world, on my children's worlds. As much as I kick and scream through the process, I eventually come to realize it's a battle I'm meant to lose. There are, of course, moral stances and lessons I will never surrender, but the smaller battles will be an opportunity to grow and learn and love. Kindergarten eased me through the door of outside influence, and it taught me that it's okay to let go sometimes.

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