The Big Jump

The nights leading up to the first day of school were difficult ones for N..  He was worried about what lay ahead in second grade.  As he put it, "Second grade is a big jump, Dad.  It's a big jump.  It's not like going from kindergarten to first grade, it's a bigger jump." He was also worried that he had mostly forgotten how to read and that he would therefore fail second grade.  These worries and fears never seem to surface until he's in bed, tucked in for the night.  I think up until that moment he's too busy living in the present to contemplate the future.  I understand this.  I've spent my share of sleepless nights, worrying about all sorts of things, big and small.  Still, I wish he'd sometimes voice his concerns before bedtime.

Yesterday was the first day of school and, by all accounts, he had a wonderful day.  Many of his best friends are in his class this year.  He sits at a table with three very nice kids, all friends.  One would think all these things would mean that perhaps bedtime would go a bit smoother.  Still, last night, we could hear him "not going to sleep" for some time after lights out.  I went up to see what the trouble was and found him staring at the ceiling.  "Tomorrow's going to be a bad day, Dad.  Today was fun, but that's just because it was the first day and we didn't really do anything except find our desks and stuff.  Tomorrow the real work is going to start."

I tried to offer some words of comfort, but I knew they wouldn't do much good.  I don't know for certain what second grade will be like for him and he knows it.  When you're lying in bed scared, even the smallest speck of uncertainty can become a mountain of dread.  I laid down next to him and shut my mouth.  He snuggled in close and seemed comforted to have me there.  I'd like to be able to say that he immediately fell asleep.  Unfortunately, this was not the case.  He squirmed and fidgeted and tossed and turned for quite awhile.  I watched him as he would roll away from me only to return a moment later.  Eventually, he drifted off, with his arm draped across my neck.

The whole episode seriously cut into my night and pushed back my own bedtime.  This was particularly painful since I was planning on getting up early the next morning.  As I stumbled into bed, it would have been easy to be annoyed with the whole incident but I wasn't, at least not too much.  Instead, I felt a certain contentment that my mere presence could comfort him.  It made me feel like I must be doing something right as a father.  One less thing to worry about as I stare at the ceiling at night.