I wrote this piece a few years ago, but recently came across it and got hit with the same wave of emotions that made me write it in the first place.
Last week, I drove my daughter a few blocks from our house, and abandoned her. Well, I didn’t really abandon her, I just took her to preschool. But it was my first time, and somehow, I felt I’d done something wrong.
When our oldest child was born, my wife and I arranged our schedules so we could spend as much time with her as possible. And for the first two-and-a-half years of her life, at least one of us was with her almost all the time. But as I sat in my car—having just dropped her off for her first day of preschool—I began to wonder what kind of parent I was, leaving her all alone with people I hardly knew. Would they read to her? Could anyone possibly teach her as well as my wife and I had? Who would encourage her? And who would love her? I was nearly overcome with a need to run back to the school, grab her, and take her home where she belonged.