Moose

My daughter starts preschool next week. She's ready, she'll have fun, it'll be the source of huge growth for her, and we're a mess. You'd think she was heading off to boarding school in Prague. But she's not. She's going to a Montessori school 20 blocks away.

Yesterday, we attended a little play group at a nearby park for new kids entering her specific classroom. It was set up as a way for us to meet other parents and for our daughter to make some friends prior to the first day. Neither of these things really happened, but so be it.

We did meet one mother and her son, Evan. Evan is a cutie-pie and seemed genuinely interested in our girl and getting to meet her. His mother, however, decided the best thing to talk to us about was Moose.

Moose, it seems, is a kid in this class (a slightly older kid, like hers, who is a returning student) who has a normal, real name. His name is Robbie. But, she informed us, he goes by Moose. Everyone calls him Moose. It is unclear 1. why this is so and 2. why she has decided that this is the most important information she can give us.

HER: Tell them about Moose, honey.

EVAN: There's a kid in our class. His name is Moose.

HER: And tell them what you do with Moose on the playground.

EVAN: Oh. Moose chases us around. His name is Moose.

HER: Honey, don't all the kids chase him? Doesn't it go back and forth?

EVAN: No. We're all scared of Moose. He chases us. His name is Robbie, but he's Moose.

HER: Oh.

EVAN: (pointing) I think I see him!

HER: Really? Where? I don't see him.

ME: It's been nice meeting you.

A few minutes later, my wife and daughter skipped off into the grass to examine a tree and the mud surrounding it, while I stayed on the little retaining wall with our one-year-old son. I was making my usual faces at him, when a larger child jumped on my back, piggy-back style. I think he was trying to walk along the top of the wall I was sitting on and was mostly attempting to get around me. The result is that he was now on my back.

I cocked my head back to see who it was. There was this tallish kid, maybe 4 years old, wearing a vivid orange t-shirt and cut-off jeans, with wild dark, curly hair and a huge grin. I asked him his name, as if I didn't already know.

HIM: Robbie.

ME: Robbie. Hi, Robbie. Or is it... Moose???

HIM: (as he continued along the wall) Hehehehe.

I turned back to my wife and waved my arms to get her attention. She looked up and I signed the letters M-O-O-S-E, and then pointed at... hey, where did he go? Say, huh? He was gone. I mean, GONE. He was nowhere.

We packed up our stuff and our kids and left the park for lunch. As we left, I imagined Moose leaving for lunch. I imagined him getting into the driver's seat of his SUV and taking himself to the nearest Arby's.

What does he signify, really? Is he the sum of all of our preschool fears: the rogue student making all of our perfect, innnocent children feel uneasy and tiny? Or, on the contrary, does he represent everything this experince should be for our child: freedom, courage and wild abandon? I consider, but do not conclude as I strap my girl securely into her carseat.

Mmmmm, Arby's.