FAMILY MATTERS
Keeping kids safe requires skills of 007

By Michael C. DeMattos

The hollow tile was surprisingly cold on my back. Half in shade and sun, I could feel the perspiration dripping down my right temple.

I stayed close to the wall, standing long and lean, trying to avoid being seen. I had to become nearly invisible, because my daughter has the eyes of a hawk.

The last thing I needed was another father fiasco.

My daughter had just started kindergarten, and for the first week, I escorted her to class. I would park the car, and together we would walk to her room. She learned the route from campus entrance to classroom quickly and soon asked to be dropped off like the other kids.

Reluctantly, I agreed.

That's when the father fiasco occurred. The drop-off went as planned, but in my fatherly wisdom and with my wife as co-conspirator, I had planned to follow her in and make sure she got to her room safely.

I pulled up, dropped her off at the campus entrance and then went to park the car. But there were no stalls. I panicked. I drove around what felt like the world's largest block and, upon my return to the lot, found a stall.

I hopped out of the car and ran through the halls, making a beeline to her classroom. I opened the door and saw her talking to the teacher. Then I called out to her. I do not know why. I knew she was safe, but I just felt the urge to let her know that I was proud of her.

Seeing me did not have the effect on her that I was hoping for.

She stomped toward me and stated for all to hear, "Dad, this class is for kids, not grownups. You have to leave."

I felt conflicted. I was hoping for a hug and a kiss, an acknowledgement that I was there to keep her safe and that I had done my job. I got a glance and a wave of the hand.

Still, I was proud of her. I was proud of her determination, her desire to make it on her own.

I left the campus knowing that this was just the first of many launchings and that some may not go as well.

And so I found myself the next day trying in vain to suck in a gut that despite my best effort had gone south years ago.

My daughter literally skipped to class, and I discreetly followed her. The classroom door opened, and I watched as she took off her backpack that seemed as big as she was and entered the room.

I turned to leave, but stole one last glance at her classroom. The door opened, and my daughter stuck her head out like a turtle from the shell.

She looked left and then right and, not seeing me, smiled and slowly closed the door again.

This time, it was my turn to skip.

I jumped in the car and quickly dialed my wife.

"The hawk has left the nest and has reached her final destination," I announced. "Mission accomplished."

Michael C. DeMattos has a master's degree in social work. He is a family therapist, educator, trainer, storyteller and angler, and lives in Kane'ohe with his wife and 5-year-old daughter. Reach him at: Family Matters, Island Life, The Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; fax 525-8055; or e-mail ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com.