First day in second grade

Shortly after school let out last year, I received a letter in the mail informing me that the district would no longer bus Zoe to the Boys & Girls Club. I found myself hyperventilating as I read the letter.

Not only is the Boys & Girls Club a whopping $25 a year, it's where she has been going for two whole years, and it is just about the most stable and predictable thing in her life. Plus, her brother goes to the day care, so they get to see each other more, and it is convenient for me to pick them up there.

My family and I forged bonds with the caregivers there... my entire support network revolves around them. Miss Leslie is more reliable and flexible than my father and my brother combined. Miss Renee knows more about Jacob's diaper rash than I do. Mr. Dre has taken Zoe to more ballgames than I have. Miss Jamie will sometimes make me late for work when we begin mindlessly chatting about our kids. Miss Marsha will buy the kids gifts to mark special occasions. Miss Katie will sometimes call me at work just to BS about Jacob. Miss Kris even lets me slide on tuition now and again.

I moved from the neighboring school district believing Zoe would continue to be bused to the club. And then I get The Letter....

I spent a good deal of summer fretting about it. The district was offering after-school care on the school campus, but it would run me "$10-$15 a day." Well, which was it? And now I had to pick up my kids at different locations, leaving the north side of the city, driving through downtown at rush hour, to hit two locations on the southeast side of the city.

And I dreaded hearing Zoe whine that she wouldn't see all her friends at the club anymore. Or get to see her brother. Or buy snacks.

I spent many hours this past summer drafting angry letters, then rewriting them, and then sending them out to anyone who I thought would listen. The superintendent. The principal. The director of transportation. The incoming PTG president. The board of directors. AND ALL OF THEIR ASSISTANTS.

I researched the minutes of the board meetings to see why they might have forced such upheaval in our lives. There were no details availalbe, just "DISCUSSED TRANSPORTATION TO THE BOYS & GIRLS CLUB." I bitched to the day care people. I bitched to other parents. I bitched to my father. I researched other day cares my kids could attend together. I considered the cost of going back to court knowing Joe would protest my moving Jacob. I wrote more letters. I wrote to my congressman.

Summer is not an easy time to get a hold of educators or politicians. But last week I finally heard from the assistant superintendent. She seemed sympathetic to my plight, and tried to talk me through the options, and though I shot down each one rather harshly ("THAT WON'T WORK FOR MY FAMILY"), she was pretty firm in stating politely that I was shit out of luck.

So, this morning, my Zoe got dressed, and I had purposefully kept this whole ordeal from her, thinking I could come through for her at the last minute. But I failed. As she stood there in her colorful skirt and new sneakers, I helped her put clips in her hair and took a deep breath.

"Zoe, I made you a nametag. On it is your room number and teacher."

"OK, Mommy."

"If you get lost today, just show it to a grownup and they'll help you find your way."

"OK, Mommy."

"And.... and.... there's money in your bookbag for lunch."

"OK, Mommy."

"And you won't be going to the Boys & Girls Club after school."

"What? Why?"

"When school lets out and they ask you were you are going, tell them you are staying for the after-school program and show them your nametag."

"Will I go back to the Boys & Girls Club?"

Another deep breath. "No, probably not."

"Oh, good."







After I inserted my eyeballs back into my head, I felt my guilt fade. I realized how proud I was of this beautiful little girl. And I didn't feel so bad about letting the school district win this one.