I should have written this already. Like back at the first of the month. When Mr. B. officially walked out of his fifth grade classroom, took about ten steps and was out the north-side door of the school and the door closed behind him on its pneumatic valve. Sigh. Thunk.
Forever. He says he won’t miss it. I already do, a little. All those afternoons in the heat or cold or rain waiting with other parents (mostly mothers) for the let-out and the pick-up. Holding my hand on the walk to the car. Ancient history now.
Next stop Middle School, just down the street. Yee-ahhh. And puberty. Oh joy. (Or no joy.) Time will tell. He will play the clarinet in band. At least in sixth grade. Boy scouts will continue, and monthly camping trips, at least until he’s a First Class. More evening and weekend youth basketball? Probably.
Other than that? Girlfriends? Sex? Time to begin some serious prayer.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 