School Dazed And Confused Redux Again...Rocket Man...

      She was preparing to go back to school and so we practiced some spelling.
      Isobel:  "Daddy, what does  r-e-s-p-o-n-s-i-b-l-e spell?
      Daddy: "Responsible."
      Isobel: "What does responsible mean?"
      Daddy: "It means you have to do something. Or it can mean you have control over something."
      Isobel: "What?"
      Daddy: "You know, like Mummy says if something goes wrong, Daddy is responsible."
      Isobel: "Daddy. What does it really mean?"
      Daddy: "No really Pick, that's what it means."
      Isobel: "I'll just be careful then."
   

      Ah another school year has begun and with it have come many changes. Isobel started first grade this year, The Boy has gone off to a whole new school and your humble narrator has embarked on his quest to be the oldest geezer on campus at the local community college. Big things are on the horizon, good or bad is uncertain but big things to be sure.
    OK so the whole truth of the matter is three of us went back to school today. Two in the traditional fashion and one (me) by means of the Canadian government and as I am the only one with homework, this week's screed may seem shorter than usual. I do like to blather on however so who knows how this will turn out.
      I remember Isobel's first day of school. It was only two years ago though it seems so much more than that. I took her and fought every instinct to grab her and run away. You want to protect your kids from all harm. Even the harm that eventually does them good, like primary school and appendicitis surgery. I didn't run away with her, rather I held her hand and watched her face go as ashen as mine as the recess lady came and took her off to class. The next year (senior kindergarten) was old hat. More of the same fun with her friends from last year. She gave me a peck on the cheek and skipped off to play with her pals. No fuss, no muss.
      Now just sort of backtracking a bit, at the end of the school year last year, Isobel  and the rest of the SK kids were given an envelope that read 'To be opened the night before Grade 1.' Totally forgotten by everyone except me. (The curse of excellent long term memory, I can remember what Mrs. Narrator was wearing the night I met her but I'll be damned if I can remember what she told me this morning.) In this envelope was a letter - a poem actually. AND glittery confetti.
     "Oh," said Isobel. "That goes under your pillow."
      Mrs. Narrator and I got a god chuckle out of that.
      "Honey,"I said. "I don't think it goes under your pillow, it's not the School Fairy."
      Yeah...so as we read further on in the poem....the confetti was for under the pillow. Meant to help you sleep through the  night...no nervous jitters and that...
      So I have taken Isobel to both of her first days to school and I have to admit that I was a little disappointed that she didn't want me to take her this year. Mrs. Narrator is working from home now and so Isobel wanted Mummy to take her to school the first day. She was nervous I was told and a little unsure of where to go and what to do. I imagine she was the ashen hue she was on the very first day of school. Mrs. Narrator said she felt awful for Isobel until her teacher from last year came and took her and another girl to where the needed to go. When I picked her up after school today, it was a predictable 'GREAT!' when she reported how her day went.
 The one word answers I got from The Boy told me that he will do well at this school (even though I know he was a little nervous about the whole new school deal) and that he has matured a great deal over this summer...maybe we all have.
     As for myself, I have been anxious since the day I found out I was approved to go back to school on the Government's dime. Not because I didn't think I was capable of it. Rather I was always afraid they would find me out for the fraud that I am and change their minds. "No Mr. Baker, you can't go to school after all. Go find another factory job and try again next year.' It's nice to catch a break and feel like I am not being punished for running away to join the circus. By this morning, I was utterly shitting myself. I told the mirror at least a dozen times that I couldn't do this and I was stupid to think I could just walk away from factory life...But I did.
      They say that a door closes, a window opens. I think many doors have closed in the history of this family for good or for ill but three tiny windows opened this morning...hell we kicked the bastards in. Broken glass and glittery confetti...Ain't education great?


      This is the part of this week's blog where I was going to talk about the awesome gift The Boy got from his Auntie Kimmie. A model rocket. I assembled the rocket, the launch pad, made certain we had enough engines and wadding to hurtle cardboard missile skyward. The only thing missing? The Boy.
     He has of late, become addicted to Minecraft and Skype. and so did not care to have his rocket slip the surly bonds of earth. I threw down a layer of shame so thick even he couldn't slip out of it and told him that without a doubt we would be shooting his rocket this weekend or his computer days would becoming to an end. So stay tuned for this impending wacky adventure with me and The Boy.
     In the meanwhile, here is a picture of Isobel in her new sunglasses since I didn't get a picture in her new school outfit.