Back-to-School and Back-to-Me

Today is the first day of school.

I have written sentences like this many times before, but somehow this one feels different.

Today my son starts seventh grade.

Seventh grade.

I keep looking at those words and wondering how we got here so quickly. It feels like yesterday when the first day of school was a much bigger adventure, when everything was new and we were all trying to understand this new chapter of our lives.

And now… seventh grade.

Time really doesn’t ask for our permission before it moves forward.

Every year, the night before school starts brings mixed feelings for me. There is excitement about the new beginning, curiosity about the year ahead, and that little sadness every parent probably knows when another summer becomes a memory.

But there is something else I feel too.

And for some reason, that feeling often comes with guilt.

I am a little happy that school is starting again.

There. I said it.

Two years ago, I wrote about this same feeling. I wondered why parents sometimes feel guilty for being relieved when summer vacation ends. We love our children, we love spending time with them, and yet when school starts again, many of us quietly welcome those few hours that suddenly belong to us.

Two years later, I still understand that feeling.

Maybe even better.

Summer changes the rhythm of our home. For weeks, there is no school schedule controlling our days. My son is around much more. We spend time together. We talk. We go places. Sometimes we do things together, and sometimes we simply do our own things while sharing the same space.

You become used to someone’s presence without even thinking about it.

Today, that rhythm will change again.

After he leaves for school, the house will become quieter.

I know this because I have experienced it every September.

At first, the quiet always feels a little strange. After weeks of summer, suddenly there are several hours when nobody needs anything from me. There are no plans to make together. No questions coming from another room. No school-age summer schedule to think about.

Just time.

My time.

And yes, I am looking forward to it.

That is the part that sometimes makes me feel guilty.

Should a father really be happy about having those hours back?

For many years, being a stay-at-home dad has been a huge part of my life. So much of my daily routine has been built around my son and our family. And I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.

But somewhere along the way, I think parents can forget something very simple.

We are parents, but we are also people.

I am Dad, but I am also Georgi.

I love being there for my son. But I also love writing. I love photography. I love sitting with an idea long enough to see where it takes me. I love having time to think. Sometimes I even love doing absolutely nothing for a while.

During the school year, I get some of that time back.

And maybe I don’t need to feel guilty about enjoying it.

Being happy to have time for myself doesn’t mean I am happy to be away from my son. Those are two very different things.

Perhaps that is what I understand better now than I did when I wrote about this two years ago.

Parents don’t stop being individuals when they become parents.

We still need our own interests, our own dreams, our own quiet moments. We need things that belong only to us. Not because we love our families less, but because our lives are made of more than one role.

Later this morning, a new school year will begin.

I know the house will feel different after my seventh grader heads off to school. I know I will notice the quiet.

And I also know that I will probably enjoy it.

I will make my coffee. I will sit down. Maybe I will write. Maybe I will think about my next photography idea. Maybe I will simply enjoy not having a plan for a little while.

And this year, I am going to try not to feel guilty about that.

Because a few hours later, I will look at the time and know that another familiar part of our school routine is waiting for me.

I will leave the house and walk to the nearby park.

I will wait there for the school bus.

And when it arrives, another ordinary school day will continue—one of hundreds that will probably pass much faster than I want them to.

Maybe that is why I want to appreciate both parts of the day.

The hours that belong to him.

The hours that belong to me.

And the hours that belong to us.

Today, he goes back to school.

And in some small way, I go back to me.

This time, I don’t think I need to feel guilty about it.

GK