Routines

Observance of the ordinary
Gives wings to the extraordinary.

It’s moms, mostly, who bring their kids to Leo’s elementary school each morning. There are a few of my fellow grandpas and some grandmas and dads, too. We self-select from two options when we arrive. Some enter the half-circle drive in front and line up along the sidewalk, waiting for staff members to appear to direct traffic and help children exit vehicles. Others park in the visitor lot. I am in the latter group.

The school is locked until 8:50. A few drivers have other places to be and they leave their passengers standing by the door until they’re allowed to enter the building. We stay in the car.

“We’re early again,” I announce, looking at Leo in the rearview mirror. I see this as an opportunity for math practice so I ask him how many minutes remain before he will get out of the car. He won’t answer even though I’m sure he can do the subtraction. I’m his driver, not his teacher.

At exactly 8:49, I say “It’s time” and we both put on face masks. He slides from his seat and I slip the backpack straps over his shoulders. I don’t escort him all the way to the entrance. We stop at the flagpole. He leans in for a quick hug and I say a few words of encouragement, the same few words I say each day. I watch him the entire time he walks briskly to the door because he might turn around to be sure I’m still there. He almost never does but I wait to leave until he is out of sight, just in case.

The morning ritual begins about 8:00 when Emily brings Leo to our house on her way to work. I turn on the TV so he can watch Hero Elementary on PBS while he eats the English muffin I toast, lightly, for his breakfast. He insists we do the Get Moving calisthenics that follow the show. He changes his clothes and brushes his teeth. I get the face mask from his backpack and he puts it into the right-hand pocket of his coat. We get in the car.

The TV, the English muffin, the exercise, the face mask, and the drive to school are important to Leo, I believe. They provide a familiar structure to the beginning of his day. I have no recent first-hand knowledge but I suspect third grade classrooms are a bit chaotic at times. Whatever else happens during his day, he starts it right.

The routine is important to me, too, and for the same reasons: structure, familiarity, and an orderly start to the day. My ritual observance commences when I arise, shower, shave, dress, and eat breakfast. It ends when I arrive home from the school. All of the morning’s actions, if I experience them mindfully, are like the unhurried, graceful movements of tai chi or a Japanese tea ceremony. They provide balance and rhythm for the hours that follow.

Now I’m ready for whatever lies ahead. I check my calendar, my task list, and my notes. I reply to emails. I turn to the projects that need my attention.

My work day begins.