Read Raising Blaze for Free Online Page B

kindergartners was short, she told us, only three hours. I had no idea what I would do to fill the time. Aside from my time working, Blaze had been with me all five years of his life. I was thrilled for him and couldn’t wait to see what adventures he’d have “out there.”
    As I took Blaze to his first day of kindergarten, we were both inhigh spirits. It was the first bridge to his life as an independent individual and we were happy to cross it. Just like everybody else.
     
    Blaze and I arrive in front of his classroom fifteen minutes before school is due to start. The parking lot is jammed with Ford Explorers and Chevy Suburbans. Outside his classroom, the scene resembles a press briefing before an Academy Awards ceremony. Parents swarm the playground with video cameras and flashbulbs, photographing their children from every possible angle.
    “Smile, Ashlyn, look at Daddy!”
    “Honey, go stand by your teacher so Mommy can get a picture.”
    Blaze lets go of my hand as soon as we arrive and starts darting around, taking in the bustle of color and movement. Although I feel like the panorama in front of me is a little ridiculous, I have a twinge of regret that I haven’t thought to bring a camera of my own. It looks bad, I think, showing up without some kind of recording device, like I don’t care as much as the other parents, even though I’m convinced I probably care more. And I’ve shown up without a husband, either. Every other kindergartner here is represented by two parents. This is definitely not the first time I’ve felt different, but it is the first time I’ve ever felt guilty about it.
    Some children are crying, unwilling to leave their parents but most—scrubbed, coiffed, and wearing their best designer duds—just appear vaguely stunned. There is not a single man, woman, or child of color in this entire panoply. This observation flits through my consciousness and settles somewhere in the back of my brain. Blaze’s teacher emerges from her room like a movie star making her first entrance on the red carpet and directs the children to form a line.
    “Go on, honey,” I tell Blaze, “get in line.” My voice is choked and there’s a lump in my throat. I struggle to control myself because I don’t want Blaze to think that I’m sad to see him go off to school. It turnsout I’ve got nothing to worry about; Blaze gives me a perfunctory “Bye, Mom,” and marches off into the classroom without a moment’s hesitation. I watch him disappear and stand outside for a few minutes, sentimental tears rolling down my cheeks, listening to the click and whir of thirty cameras.
    When I get back home, I haul out my own video camera. I may not have had one at the beginning of the day, but I’ll be there to record the moment when he gets off the bus. Yessir, just like everybody else. My mother comes over to help me welcome Blaze home after his first day. I have tea with her and Maya and we talk about how exciting it is that Blaze is in school and he’s already five, can you believe it, seems like it was just yesterday he was a newborn wrapped up in his bunny suit all snug in a front pack. When the time comes, all three of us walk to the corner, tape rolling, to wait for the bus. When it pulls up, we squeal with delight and start clapping.
    The bus grunts to a halt in front of us and a couple of kids disembark. After a moment, Blaze bounces off too but his teacher appears at the top of the steps right behind him and she looks mighty concerned.
    “Turn the camera off,” my mother orders.
    “What’s wrong?” I ask the teacher.
    “Hi, there,” she offers by way of answering me. “Blaze is fine, but there’s a little problem. We’re wondering if you could come down to the school this afternoon for a meeting.”
    “What kind of problem?” I ask, a cold sweep of panic racing through my body. “Hi, Mom,” Blaze says, “I like the bus.” He turns around and starts to reboard, but my mother grabs his hand