It’s funny how you forget what a big deal things can be to young folks. I spend a good deal of time assuring and reassuring, squelching fears and comforting. As a father and teacher, it comes with the territory.

My new crop of students come to me with wide eyes and anxious hearts, wondering if all will go well. I’m sure they come into the cavernous middle school, much different than their previous school, and wonder if it’s possible to get lost and never be heard from again.

So, it’s been my order of business since coming to this huge school to spend a short time going over a few preliminaries, and then open up the morning for a discussion. A plethora of questions soon come out.

Questions about how to open the combination locks on their lockers, how long passing periods are, how much time they have to eat lunch, and where the buses will park after school are answered.

I always end this question time with “If you have other questions that start to worry you, I can answer those, too.  And don’t worry, we will take good care of you today.  No one will spend the night here.”

We took child No. 1 to college last week, and went through the hit-and-miss procedure of moving into a dorm room. I’m waiting to see what the difference is between boys and girls moving into a college dorm, but this particular son forgot to pack clothes hangers.  As we got him settled, we decided to jet off to the local department store and stock up on a few things. Most of the electronic devices in his room needed the aid of a power strip to improve the aesthetics of the room. The clothes hangers, of course, were a great need. It was funny how a lot of simple little things were of monumental concern and great importance.

A few days later, it was the first day of kindergarten for child No. 4. We had gone through the rigors of getting the right folders and crayons and lunch box. All seemed to go quite well and we felt more than prepared for the first day.

After school, we heard a report of the new and shiny world of kindergarten. The other two, unimpressed with the “same old” of school simply reported on which friends were in their classes and had little to say about everything else.

Been there, done that.

But soon, our dramatic and emotional fourth child began to get teary eyed as she told us of her first day lunch and how she had no drink. You see, when you take your lunch, you are supposed to also pack your own drink. Or buy a milk. Being a non-milk-drinker (at least with meals), the tad-bit-spoiled baby of the family was devastated that water was not offered her in this new kindergarten world; a place she had looked forward to for months.

“What if I can never have a drink for lunch? What if they make me drink a milk?” We let her voice her fears and get the anxiety of the whole thing out of her system before the reassuring begins.

After quite a bit of discussion and a few reminders, we decided we’d have the be-all-end-all voice of authority assure her the next day. So, we asked the kindergarten teacher. Sure enough, water was permitted with lunch, hot or cold, and there would be no forced drinking of milk. It had to come from the teacher’s very mouth before all fears were properly squelched, though.

Who cares what my parents say, I need to hear it from my teacher.

Even with the drama and scrambling around to set everything right, I find great humor in looking at the little things that turn into monumental problems when school begins. It’s a bit humorous to see how small things can turn into seemingly insurmountable issues, especially when you are 5. Or 10. Or 18.

For now, all seems to be moving along properly. College boy has a neat row of clothes hanging in his little closet. No one has gotten lost yet, and no one has had to spend the night camped out in the dark hallways of school.

And, by golly, everyone can drink water if they want. Thank goodness.