Dads, you'll love this one.

My son is 5 and is still willing and eager to show dear old dad some affection in front of others, but my niece would not even let her picture be taken on the first day of school. I guess I should prepare for the inevitable.

http://www.mercurynews.com/mikecassidy/ci_...?nclick_check=1

 

That's strange. I have clicked it multiple times and it comes up fine. I never registered for it, either. Oh well, here it is.



Cassidy: After fourth grade, a dad is obsolete
By Mike Cassidy
Mercury News Columnist
Article Launched: 08/29/2007 01:30:21 AM PDT


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Aug 29:
School bells ring, registers ka-chingSo, our last first day of elementary school is in the books and I've learned one valuable lesson.
My work is done. I'm no longer needed as a dad. Useless, obsolete, so yesterday.

On Tuesday, like dads everywhere, I lined up my eighth-grade daughter and my fifth-grade daughter for first-day-of-school photos.

Everybody now:

"Daaaaaaaaaaaad!"

Pictures. It's part of the communal first-day ritual.

There is a crackle in the air. Kids are up early. Traffic is a mess. There is a certain exhilaration, a journey into the unknown, a clean slate, the prospect of new friends, new experiences and maybe even learning a thing or two.

And off my wife, Alice, went to school with fifth-grader Riley, while I drove Bailey, our eighth-grader, to middle school. Well, I drove her to a park about half a mile from middle school so that she wouldn't be spotted with Lame-o as she made her first-day appearance.

Hey, Bailey's a teenager now. It goes with the territory. I'm sure she likes me. She's just been searching for exactly the right words to say it - for the past year or so.

Then I headed over to cheer on Riley on the first day of her last year in elementary school. I spotted her across the playground standing with a gaggle of friends. I figured she didn't see me because she didn't wave or come running. In fact, it almost looked as if she were trying to melt into the crowd.

What did I do?



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Wait. She did see me? And that's why she was melting into the crowd? OK, you expect that from the teenager, but my adoring little girl?
Still, I was cool. (Yes, I'm a cool dad. Really. No question.) I didn't go charging over to Riley and her gang spouting "honeys" and "sweetie" and going on about, "Fifth grade? You're such a big girl."

Instead, I said I was looking for Alice, who was having her own first day of school, starting work as a teacher's aide.

Wise beyond her years

Riley didn't buy it.

"Why are you here?"

"Uh, I just wanted to wish you luck."

"Dad, I don't need luck. It's only fifth grade."

"But I . . .

"Goodbye Dad."

I walked over to the classroom where Alice was working and, of course, she was busy. Working, remember?

So, I stood on the playground and took it all in one last time. The place was a chaotic cavalcade of human energy. Some were running and screaming. No, not the kids. The parents. Some had tears in their eyes. Right. The parents.

Kids in transit

One boy instantly became the coolest kid in school when his father delivered him to third grade on a Segway. Yeah. Palo Alto.

One tiny girl with blond hair, a crisp pink dress and patent leather shoes clutched a stuffed white fluffy dog to her chest and walked with her dad toward the kindergarten classes as if she were being escorted to the gallows.

I was that dad once. When Bailey started kindergarten, on our first, first day of elementary school, she bolted out of the classroom as the lessons were starting and latched on to Alice and me for dear life. That was then. Now? Now, I'm a driver full of corny jokes and daily advice met with an implied "Whatever."

Everybody grows up

But I'm growing up too. There was a time the first day of school left me distraught. I'd get that same first-day, brick-in-the-stomach feeling for my kids that I had when I was in school. The first day seemed so cruel, plucking children from the joy of boundless summer and subjecting them to rules and schedules and peer pressure and parental expectations.

But my children have taught me that school is different for them. School is their universe. It's where they travel with people who understand the world the way they do.

It's where they have a sense of accomplishment and where they learn to bounce back from disappointment and defeat. It's a place where their fate is often placed in their own hands, where all that talk about actions and consequences has real-life meaning.

And whether they need me or not, I'm sure they haven't forgotten me. I mean, maybe they'll write.

What's that?

Oh yeah. Send money.