Combination for a Heart Attack

So, university started back today for me. Despite my ongoing aggravating struggle with my schedule, the students themselves are great. I didn't think I'd like the new group as much as the old group, but I do. Maybe I'm preconditioned to like them and want to "rescue" them. But today went well, in spite of the fact that a certain administrative someone has completely and thoroughly fucked up the entire scheduling process in ways so complex I'm not sure where to begin. I had a good first day as a teacher. I had a shit-cat of a day as an administrator.

After my last class, I came home and took Dante to his new middle school for a tour and to get his schedule. That's right. Middle school. Schedule. I knew this was coming, but I still don't think I'm prepared for it. He switches classes for everything; none of the people he knows are in any of his classes; the sixth grade takes up the entire second floor; and the most heart attack inducing thing is that he has a combination locker. I'm not sure why that was the thing that gave me what I consider to be my first mild heart attack. But when we were sitting through the principal/parents meeting just before Dante came home, I was doing just fine up to that point. Then he said, "Each student has his own combination locker." And I stopped listening and experienced a thing I can only describe as a heart attack-lite.

He has a combination locker. He's in the beginning throes of puberty. He said, "Mom, I'm pretty much just interested in hanging out with my friends now." His feet are now bigger than mine, and he wears the same size shirt as I do. He is Growing Up. Holy Shit. I'm not ready. I'm just not. I haven't gotten the Kid Is Growing Up memo yet. I haven't purchased the right supplies to deal with growing up. What am I gonna do?!

I was really concerned that he would be afraid of middle school. I'm still worried that he's going to have a crappy first week and come home in tears. He is so excited he can't stand it. He whipped out that combination and his locker down in about three tries. We went to all his rooms, and he was yelling about everything. "They have a DISHWASHER in there!! What do you suppose we're gonna do with it???" He has a science teacher for homeroom and then he moves immediately to his science class. He has math and language arts, and his two added value classes (I like to think of them as supersizing your fries kind of things) appear to be art and world religion. That ought to please Nana. He'll get to try woodworking this year. He can't wait. I, on the other hand, need at least six more weeks.

We go to get supplies tomorrow. I've put it off until the very last second. It's not that I don't like who he is now or that I wish he was still a baby, because I don't. I like the jokes he makes, I like the person he is becoming, I like being able to relate more fully to him now. But I Am Not Ready. Not yet.

Excuse me while I go take a couple of aspirin to thin down my blood. He starts Wednesday.

-- Dante's Virgil