Why September makes me sad

On the back-to-school blues

As we entered late summer, the consensus among our parent friends was clear: They needed their kids back in school.

That sentiment is driven, I think, by exhaustion — with summer activities, with the never-ending fight over screen time, with entertaining them (or trying to) 16 hours a day.

School provides routine. And consistency. And eight hours during the day when you can do things for yourself and not have to worry — really — about the kids.

I get ALL of that. I just don’t feel that way.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been battling a sense of dread about my kids — one going into 9th, the other going into 6th — heading back to school.¹

It has nothing to do with them and everything to do with me.

Since being laid off at CNN, one of the things that has rooted me, kept me going and brought me joy is how much I am able to be there for the kids.

I drive them to practices and games. I pick them up at friends’ house after playdates. It lets me spend time with them. We chat. I get a window — sometimes a small one — into their interior lives.

As I think about what makes me sad — or at least reflective — about the kids going back to school then, I think it’s really about the passage of time.

Because I am with them every day, I don’t necessarily process that they are getting older. Or that I have only four years left with my 9th grader before I am dropping him off for college. (Yes, I teared up writing that.)

(Sidebar: One weird contradiction to the can’t-wait-for-school-to-start mentality is college dropoff. It’s generally accepted by, well, everyone, that dropping your kid off at college is a traumatic — and sad — experience.)

The start of school is an unavoidable marker of time passing. We take their pictures on the front porch, remark how much taller they’ve grown and how much older they look and then it’s off to the bus. It’s an annual rite of passage. A year has passed. We are all older. Time marches on.

There’s no ignoring it. My son is in 9th grade and soon 10th and then he will be a senior and then out of my hands entirely.

I’m already experiencing some of that distancing. My older son would rather spend time with friends than with me. He needs me — and my wife — when he needs us, for sure. But that is less and less of the time with each passing month.

I know that all of this is totally natural. Kids are supposed to grow more and more independent as they get older. They are supposed to look for ways to separate from you. Circle of life.

But, no one told me it would be this hard!

I think my situation is exacerbated by the uncertainty of my work future — and how much I have grown to rely on my interactions (and time spent) with the kids over the past 9 months.

Over that time, I’ve realized — more than I ever had before — how critical my family is to my happiness. For too long, I defined myself by what job I had or how often I was on TV or who recognized me in the airport.

Now, I define myself — on my good days — through how my family looks at me. The most important thing I will do in life is be a husband and a father — maybe a basic idea but one I have had to reacquaint myself with over these past 9 months or so.

When my younger son tells me I am the “best” dad there is, it makes my day. And sometimes my week. (Sidebar: He doesn’t really know any other dads particularly well but I’ll take it!)

But, that realization makes the inevitable passage of time that much harder. Because I know there will come a time when the boys are gone — off to pursue their own lives and dreams. (Again, I know this is natural. It just ain’t easy.)

Look. That day isn’t tomorrow. At least for the foreseeable future, I will be able to drop them off at the bus and pick them up. We will — most nights — eat dinner together. I will kiss them before they go to bed. (And I might even get a year more of cuddling with my younger son!)

I am desperately trying to stay in that moment — and be thankful for every day I have with them. And remember there are a lot more days to come.

But, I can’t help but feel a little bit sad too — that time inexorably moves forward, that age is undefeated and that my time with my boys is shorter than I would wish it to be.

1. My kids don’t start school until after Labor Day. Hence my reflective mood.