(You’re a Big Girl Now - The Stylistics)

Parents get emotional whenever the day comes to wake up early in the morning, dress their child, and send them off to a building for eight hours— school. It hurts to see them excited, nervous, or sad.

It’s the inevitable.

The car ride there is making his heart race. Couple miles more and they’re at the school. He hates the thought of leaving you, especially in a big school.

It feels like he’s letting you swim in an ocean alone.

“Do you have your backpack?” he asks, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. The sight catches in his chest. You’re in the backseat, legs dangling, small hands fidgeting together.

He lets out an exhale that’s too shaky, his index finger tapping against the steering wheel. The silence stretches between you, filled only by the hum of the engine. His eyes flick from the road to you, then back again.

“It’ll be… a bit scary, at first,” Jerry begins, aiming to sound steady— he doesn’t.

“But you’re strong. You’ll meet new people, make lots of friends, and learn all kinds of things…” His voice trails slightly.

There’s a pause.

“You’ll be fine,” he says softly, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You’re growing up, and he’s not sure he’s prepared.