One thing Wife and I admired, but never thought to attain, was a traditional Catholic parochial school. And then, through the encouragement and hard work of a special parish priest, we were given the opportunity to enroll the children in a Catholic school. If you had seen Wife’s face when we found out, you would have thought the skies had opened up and the Second Coming was at hand.
We were thrilled.
It was true that a couple of the older children were not as happy to move schools. And convincing them felt like transplanting gophers, holes and all. They had to simply trust that their mother and I knew best. After all, if children ran the world, dentists would have to work overtime, and spinach farmers would be incarcerated.
And so, for the first time in their little lives, the children wore uniforms and faced school five days a week. Wife was absolutely bursting with giddiness.
The two weeks before the school started was a tornado of rushed activity. Uniforms had to be purchased; second hand of course. Carpools were arranged; the children of one of my uncles and aunts attend the same school, as well as a cousin’s children. And school lunches made; my personal favorite because the children made my lunches as well.
By the first day of school, we were as prepared as settlers in covered wagons. Wife and our children met my aunt and cousin, and the whole group stepped onto the church grounds like the Mayflower disembarking. Our new home.
Looking back, I am not quite sure whether Wife was more excited to have the weight of the children’s curriculum lift from her shoulders, or if it was the cute uniforms. But I can say for certain, the children are just as happy as she.