Firsts

This was a fall was filled with firsts. My son’s first day of kindergarten. His first bus ride. His first time getting off the bus. His first time getting back on the bus and getting off at the correct stop. My son’s first Christmas play. It was also the first time my wife watched him get on the bus, never ever, ever, ever to see him again. (Strangely, when he safely got off the bus that afternoon, she claimed she wasn’t at all worried.) It was also the first time I realized what a craven coward my wife is.

It all started three weeks before Christmas. That’s when she started her nefarious plotting. She made several references to my son’s Christmas play and wanted to make sure I was going to be in town. I checked my schedule and made sure everything was clear. Honestly, there was no way I was going to miss his first (well, actually it was his third, but it was the first officially sanctioned by the American public school system.) Christmas play. Especially after listening to him practice his songs.

Pretty much from the end of October I ‘d hear them practicing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I’d sneak into the living room and as soon as he saw me, he’d clam up and tell my wife to stop singing. When I asked what they were doing, I was firmly told, by both conspirators, that it was a secret.

A couple weeks before the play, my wife casually (I should learn that when she casually slips something into the conversation, I need to pay attention) mentioned that my son also had his class Christmas party the same day of the play. I recall she added that she had volunteered to help out. Now, at this point, my respect for her rose by leaps and bounds. Anyone that would volunteer to be confined in a small room with twenty six-year old sugar-addled, pre-Christmas hyped hooligans deserves a special place in heaven.

Because it was the end of the year, we had money set aside for medical expenses that had to be used or it’d go back into the tax pool. (Don’t ask me. When my wife explained it, it made sense.) And she had a coupon for a local dentist. She’d been complaining about a crown or something. Apparently a crown has something to do with your teeth and is not a bid to be treated like royalty?

Now, I grew up with the phrase, “I’d rather have a root canal than do…” fill in the blank. And in over forty years, I always thought that was just a hugely exaggerated phrase. That is until my wife told me that she had scheduled her root canal for the Tuesday before Christmas. I can think of many ways to prepare for the holidays, but for some reason, a visit to the dentist never ranked real high on my list.

Remember the statement that there is a special place in heaven for people that volunteer to be caged with over twenty six-year olds? Well, I’m even surer that there is a special place in hell for wives that volunteer to do that, then schedule a root canal and send their husbands in their place. I found out about her evil bait and switch Tuesday morning.

Since my son has a dye allergy, and his teacher was on vacation, one of us had to go and make sure the substitute didn’t give him anything that would make him sick. One of the great things about where we live is, everyone knows and watches out for him, even his little friends. But with Christmas just around the corner, we didn’t want to take any chances.

My son’s class had their Christmas play first, so we went to see our firstborn’s fourth first Christmas play. They did a great job. My favorite was, All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth. The fact that for most, it was true added to the realism. Then seeing close to one hundred kindergarteners leap when they sang “Sister Suzie sitting on the thistle, OUCH!” really sold the song.

Afterwards, my wife still maintained that she would be able to help out with the party in the afternoon. I was impressed at how she lied without flinching. When I got the call, that after the root canal, she “just didn’t think she’d be able to go, could I?” I wasn’t mad. I’m not the one going to hell.

So, with my most stain resistant clothes, several cups of coffee in me to fortify, I went to face my doom. I knew what my son was like at home. Him multiplied by twenty, with the excitement of Christmas, I figured we’d throw the pizza, cookies and juice through the door and wait until the noise settled down before going in. Add a substitute and I wasn’t sure I’d get out alive.

We were invited into the classroom and I stared at those little eyes, waiting for them to pounce. Then something amazing happened. “I don’t see all the kindergarteners sitting and quiet,” the substitute announced. I thought, that’s because they are getting ready to ambush us.
Then, just like in the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes, all those little hooligans sat, cleaned up their desk and looked on… with… angelic faces. Even my son! We had pizza, punch and cookies, played games, made reindeer antlers and I survived my first immersion into the wild habitat of a herd of kindergarteners.

I hope everyone has as wonderful a holiday as we did.