MY HEART IS IN THAT LOCKER

I sent them off today.

Like so many parents are doing this month, I sent my children off for their first day of school.

There were no crayons to buy; no glue sticks or magic markers; no writing tablets with the wide lines; no giant boxes of Kleenex or big bottles of hand sanitizer. In fact, I don't even know what Blake bought in the way of school supplies as he took care of that himself. Paul took Kayla out one evening, while he was buying her a new softball bat, and picked up her supplies. For us, now, there are just lots of notebooks and folders; index cards and red grading pens. Perhaps we will need some colored pencils for a geography map; I need to make sure we have a protractor and a compass for Kayla's geometry class. Other than that, not much else except an expandable locker shelf, a tiny white board and a mirror for the locker door. Oh, and Kayla and I did shop for a nifty book bag.

And for the first time in a couple of years, our kids are in the same building again. Since we are in a consolidated district; not only have our kids often been in different buildings through the years, but they have been in different towns.

But now they are in the same building again. And until Blake leaves for college in two years, it will remain so. Because we have begun the final chapter in this phase of our lives.

Last night, at freshman orientation, I watched as Kayla opened her locker on the second floor (because lower class men have lockers on the second floor), and as I watched her arrange her notebooks and folders, insert her shelf, and place her mirror and white board on the door, I nearly turned into a puddle of goo.

This is it, I thought to myself. This is the final chapter of this book. My baby girl is entering high school. Oh, I know my job as a parent is far from over. I know high school isn't the end. But after high school, we close a book and open a new volume. And this book is nearing its end.

And yet it seems I've blinked only a couple of times since her first day of kindergarten. I remember her outfit that day. It came from a store in Indianapolis - a store called Chocolate Soup. It was yellow and white and had an applique of a little girl with balloons on the front. The top buttoned in the back. She wore a big yellow bow in her hair and gleaming white tennis shoes with ruffled socks. And she was tiny. Oh, so tiny.

And now she is entering a part of life which, if my predictions are correct, will turn out to be truly magical for her. I loved high school and I believe Kayla will too. I think she will find her niche and shine for the teachers. I think she will work hard but make each day a party. I think she will keep her grades up but always be happiest when she is with her friends. I think she will remember our constant reminder and represent us well.

So as I am sad that my baby is moving to the edge of the nest, I am happy - thrilled even - that that edge holds such promise for her. She will be making the best of memories.

So, yes, somewhere on the second floor of a high school nestled among the corn and soybean fields of Illinois, there is a locker that contains my heart.

And on the first floor of that same building, where upper class men have their lockers, a young man is now placing his own notebooks and folders as he prepares for his last two years of high school.

And because of a math problem that only God can solve, that locker contains my heart too.