Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Today, I dropped my 12-year-old adopted child off for his first ever week of overnight (residential) camp. How I feel this evening reminds me of how I felt the first day that I dropped him off at all-day pre-kindergarten (pre-K). At age four, my adopted child was beyond ready to spread his wings and attend an all-day school without mom around cramping his style. I feared that seven hours was a long day for a four-year-old child, but my adopted child had no reservations. He would much rather play with his peers than hang out with an old fogy like me all day.
My adopted child was quite the brat as I drove him to his first day of pre-K. I was thinking that I might not even be sad to leave him because he was being so difficult. When I dropped him off in front of the school, he didn’t even look back. He climbed out of the car and walked confidently toward his first day of pre-K, wearing a backpack that was almost as big as he was. Despite being annoyed with him, I found myself tearing up as I watched my little guy walk into the next chapter of his life. I wasn’t sad or worried – just rootless as I adjusted to a life in which I was no longer in charge of him 24/7.
