Back to School

The kids are easing into their school routine and we seem to have navigated the “back to school” waters which have proven surprisingly treacherous in recent years.  Re-entry was certainly smoother than last year.

If you told me two years ago that we’d be paying for private school, I’d have said you obviously have me confused with someone else.  We moved to Palo Alto three years ago and are fortunate to be in one of the best school districts in California.  We’re believers in the public school system and our twins are juniors at one of the public high schools.  Naturally, we were quite skeptical, and mildly amused, when our youngest announced that he’d like to attend the private school many of his good friends go to.  We bit our lips and patiently explained that he wouldn’t be attending a different school just to spend more time with his buddies.  He was insistent and began talking about actual academic benefits the school offered so we agreed to look into it.  Sadly, we were very impressed and it turned out to be a perfect fit for him and his learning style.

Our son’s new school is a catholic school so the orientation was held on a Sunday with parents and the new students attending mass together before the orientation proceedings began.  As a new family at the school, we felt it was important to make a good first impression.  Or at least not a bad one.

We all got in bed at a reasonable hour on Saturday night so we’d be fresh and ready for that first day.  It was a pretty sound sleep right up to about 3 am.  That was when the dogs began campaigning to go out.  Usually they can be hushed back to sleep but other nights it’s clear that if we don’t let them out there’ll be trouble.  A pile of it.  On this night they immediately tore outside, barking up a storm.  This is a bad sign and never ends well.  About 15 seconds later they raced back, eyes blinking furiously, the unmistakable smell of skunk juice radiating from their coats.  I’ve written about this experience previously.  Carrie and I spent the hour between 3:00 and 4:00 am bathing each of the dogs twice in the magic mixture of hydrogen peroxide, dish soap and baking soda.  We slid back into bed a little after 4:00, trying to get just little more rest.

Part of making that good first impression is being on time.  It’s safe to say that we over-achieved in this category, arriving a full half hour before mass.  No one else had arrived yet.  This was by design so we could find seats at the very back where fewer people might catch the skunk stench wafting from our bodies.  Before grabbing those inconspicuous seats, there was just enough time for me to step into the rest room.

I swear it happened when I was washing my hands.  I put my hands under the faucet, the water blasted out, bounced off my hands and directly onto my linen trousers.  Oh jeez, now what to do?  There was no paper towel dispenser, just the air dryer.  I went to the door, pulled it open a crack and told my son that he and my wife should go get seats, I’ll be right out.  With that, I raced over to the dryer and, standing on my left foot, hoisted my right knee up, poised like a runner sliding into second base.  When I heard the door open, I naturally assumed it would be my son, urging me to hurry.  Well, it wasn’t my son and I could think of just one thing to say:  “Good morning, Father!”

And with that, the dye was cast on another of my first impressions.