The First Walk Home

“Bus!” I called when I caught a glimpse of yellow coming down our street. This spurred a last minute flurry of activity. Ian threw on his jacket, pulled on his backpack and raced out the door to the waiting bus. I stepped out onto the front deck to supervise and watched him disappear safely into the bus, without any parental help.

As I often do when I watch my children, I thought back to my own childhood and my first school days. I had to be driven to and from school during my kindergarten year, while my older brother, Bob, was permitted to walk freely.

“Can I walk with the big kids?” I asked frequently.

“No, you’re too little,” answered either parent.

I resented the answer and chafed at my restriction. I knew that I was just as good as my older brother, even if he was two grades ahead of me. We had always shared things—a bedroom, toys—and now I wasn’t allowed to walk to school with him. Although my parents were simply exercising sound judgment, I thought it grossly unfair.

I persisted, though, even as the school year wound down to its final days. Finally my mother relented.

“If the weather’s nice, on the last day of school,” Mom announced, worn down by my nine months of wheedling, “you can walk home from school with the big kids.” I would finally be able to prove that I was a big kid, fully capable of being entrusted with my own safety. My spirits soared.

Finally, the last day of kindergarten dawned and I raced to the window to check the weather. Rain fell in buckets and I saw that I was doomed. I would have to wait an entire and endless summer to prove my 6-year-old maturity. Gloom settled on me like the clouds outside and I went through the motions of the morning without joy.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked, noticing my mournful demeanor while she drove me to school yet again.

“It’s raining,” I sighed, “and I can’t walk home from school with the big kids.”

Mom thought for a moment before she spoke.

“That’s ok,” she said. “Tomorrow when the other grades end, I’ll drive you up to school and you can walk home then.”

Despite the weather, I spent the rest of the day in bright sunshine.

The next morning found us at the school waiting for Bob to appear. When I finally saw him, I slipped out of the car, slammed the door behind me and never looked back. I never asked Mom how she felt as she watched her littlest man take another step out of her life, but my eyes still grow moist when I think of it.

Bill Bartlett and his wife, Sandi, live in Belton with their sons.