Walking Her To School

The Reevaluation Of A Ritual

I had a small epiphany this morning as I walked my daughter to school. Which was, I don’t actually have to walk her there anymore. But I will.

For three years now, our morning routine has, essentially, remained the same. I pack her lunch, we find a spot near the school and her and I, together, take the small walk, rain or shine, to the front door. Sometimes we’re early and have to wait for doors to open. Sometimes, we’re late and the morning bell rings and we run together to get in!

Sometimes it’s cold, other times we need rain coats. Today, it was warm and we were lucky enough to get a space right on the main drag, only a hundred yards or so from the door.

And as we walked up the driveway, she met up with some of her friends, hugged one of them, talked about their upcoming days, shared stories. A new exciting day was unfolding for her.

As I watched, and walked, I realized that this scene would be the same had I simply dropped her at the foot of the school drive. She could find her way now. She has a click of friends she could meet. She wouldn’t get lost.

She didn’t need me.

I walked my daughter to school now because I’m the one who needs to walk her to school. I need this time with her. I don’t want to let this ritual go yet, a ritual I’d add that I’m in a privileged position to be able to take advantage of. I could add 10 or 15 minutes to my day by sending her off, but I don’t want to.

I enjoy these few minutes. Even when the weather is lousy. Even when she’s more involved with her friends than with me.

I’m holding on. While I can.

The school bell rings and her and her friends are about to head in and I watch impassively until I realize I’m still holding her lunch box.

“Wait,” I call out and am able to get to her before she heads inside.

“Thanks daddy,” she says.

“You’re welcome baby, I love you, have a beautiful day.”

She smiles and is gone. Maybe she still needs me after all.