It’s a little surreal when a 6-year-old knocks on your door and asks if you can bring them to school, but it’s easy to get over. She missed the bus, and while her mother could bring her, she wanted me to bring her. Usually, there is some ulterior motive, like I’ll stop by McDonalds or something, but it turns out, no, she just wanted me to bring her to school.
Now, in the course of life, dating, relationships, whatever, I had picked up kids from school. And god knows I’ve spent years covering Branford schools, and had been in them many times, but the process of dropping off a 6 year old was new.
Getting in the car, I realize that if she missed the bus, she was either very late or we were going to beat the buses. I asked her what time she was supposed to be there, and the response was the weird noise kids make where they say ‘I don’t know’ without their mouth actually opening, a distinct sound I would hear multiple times in the next few minutes.
Which way do cars line up? Will there be a bunch of buses? What door does she go in?
Turns out, we are not late. We live literally ½ mile from Sliney, so we are early. Like, no one is there early. So as I pull up, entering from the Community House side of the school, I ask her what door she goes in. “The one in the back” she replies. I can clearly see multiple doors in the front and side, but have never been in the back.
So a 47-year-old man mutters ‘the one in the back’ to himself a few times, each time slower than the last, as if searching for some hidden meaning, looking thoroughly lost at a place he’s been to a million times, and drives around looking for the back. I see nothing.
Finally, she looks up and points. “That one.” Great. Perfect. I’m killing this. Neighbor of the year type stuff. We say our goodbyes, I get a hug, and she’s off, runs to the door, and stands there. I have no idea why she isn’t going in. But this was her door. She had the confidence of a 6-year-old to prove it.
But now cars are lining up behind me. Cars lining up behind you after dropping someone off a kid is a new kind of pressure. Surely they have kids to drop off. I should leave.
I give in to the pressure, and pull off until I can no longer see my neighbor.
Instantly visions of every kidnapping and murder documentary flood my consciousness. I didn’t see her go in the door. A kidnapper already has her. No one is going to know until she doesn’t show up home, and I know we have 48 hours to find a missing person or odds are we never will.
At this point, the the instinct of a father with no actual kids kicks in, and I fly around the corner, then down Church street, and back around to where I dropped her off. Now a few cars are there and a few parents walking up. My little one is still standing there, the only one without an adult with them.
Damn, I’m a shitty dad, I think to myself.
But she’s safe. And now I get to the best part of dropping off your neighbors 6-year-old at school in the morning.
The kids who know each other sort of bunch up. The responsible parents stand there, many in pajamas, kinda cold, and often greet each other with the wordless nod.
But not the kids.
As the kids see a member of their class coming, they run up in a group and hug each other. Spontaneous games of tag break out. It’s a pure childhood joy, and even as I’ve been covering issues like bullying and school funding and teacher benefits, I get to see why those things need covering. For these moments.
I sit there wondering when bullying starts. What age the morning hugs of their classmates becomes snide remarks and cruel text messages. I think about Sliny School, a stunning beautiful building that is badly outdated, and if moving these kids to a new one will impact them. And I wonder if the rising costs of healthcare will further impact teacher pay and benefits, if we will still attract these amazing people who we trust with our kids (ok, neighbors) and know they will come home safe and wiser.
And soon the group of kids are at the locked door as one pulls on it. The parents watch in a group, light shivering evident, until the door is unlocked, and the kids rush in. As the parents watch their kids walk in before turning away, I’m glad I sped around, and was able to watch mine go in as well. I feel like a responsible adult.
And as the cars pull off and buses pull up, I make my way through and finally escape, ready to start my day. My day started with a 6-year-old neighbor asking for a ride to school.
I hope she asks again tomorrow.