The first day of the rest of your life
On the evening before her last day of kindergarten, our daughter suddenly developed a fever. With the last of her strength, she had put out her favourite clothes for her final day: Ballet tutu, grey tights, purple shoes, angel wings - before she curled up on the sofa like a young dog. She coughed, cried and had a fever.
I understood immediately. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life, I thought. And you want to stop it with all your might. I put my hand on her hot forehead. You're right, I thought, your life will never be as nice as it was in kindergarten. Never again will you just play with your friends all day. Never again will you squeal with happiness because it's your turn to «do the dishes». Never again will you be so exhausted in the morning that you have to go to bed at lunchtime, only to wake up in the afternoon feeling reborn and carry on.
You are not judged for what you do, but how well you do it in comparison with others.
Everyone else will lie to you about this, I continued in my mind, but I think it's only fair to tell you what you already know: you'll never see your friends again (we moved abroad shortly afterwards). And you'll be faced with something new called «expectations». People will expect things of you at school and judge you solely on whether you fulfil them or not. I know it sounds crazy, but you won't be graded on what you do, but how well you do it compared to others. Yes, you will be compared with others. And you will compare yourself, you will internalise this principle so much that you will start to hate yourself.
Our daughter had closed her eyes and laid her head on her sheep's pillow. She was breathing evenly. Had she fallen asleep? My thoughts went back to my first day at school. We were asked to come to the front. Each child received a bouquet of flowers. Then we marched into the classroom.
I was more excited than ever before in my life. I wonder what they do at school. I was ready for anything except watercolour painting. An activity that we had done once a week - I had attended Rudolf Steiner kindergarten - and against which I had developed a deep, existential aversion. When we went into the classroom, there was a large glass of water on each table. Part of me wanted to die at that moment - watercolour painting on the first day? Our teacher took the floor: «All children now put their bouquet of flowers in the water glass.» I learnt something very important that day: life will never be as good as it used to be. But it's also never as bad as you fear.
The next morning, our daughter was miraculously healthy again. She put on her favourite clothes, strapped on her angel wings and took my hand. She sang all the way to kindergarten. Her last day was her best.
This article is from the «Kindergarten booklet 2nd year/spring» entitled «Tschüss Chindsgi» and is aimed at parents of kindergarten children in their second year. Order a single issue now!
