When Marisol was born, she stayed in the Infant ICU for two weeks before she could be taken home. Why? Because the whole place would have collapsed without her.

Regardless, I felt left on hold when I couldn't drive her home, Black Sabbath blaring, to start our lives together in earnest. For two weeks I was sort of her father. I'd meet people on the street and say that I was a father, and people would say "If that is true, then where is your offspring?"

Every year, by virtue of riots or global warming, Los Angeles bursts into flame. August 31 would have marked Marisol's first day of kindergarten and the beginning of her illustrious public school career (she spent two years at a private post-toddler finishing school), but the wildfires burning the hills of La Crescenta have cancelled Marisol's first two days of school.

Where I grew up, we had snow days. But not until we really needed them.

Marisol, of course, is unperturbed. I think she will realize how much she likes school once she's in it, but now she seems not to care either way. I sat her down and explained why she wouldn't be going to school, how the fires were - and the safety issues - and how we'd continue getting up and getting dressed the same way as we would if she -

"I don't care," she said.

It doesn't matter to her, I realized, but it matters to me. I feel the same way as I did when she was languishing in the hospital, that a milesone was being denied us. Of course, she doesn't feel that way.

There have been no robocalls or e-mails from the school district (perhaps it burned down?) saying school was cancelled for tomorrow, so September 2, 2009 will be Marisol's first day of kindergarten.

I mentioned, a la John Lennon's "Working Class Hero," that she would probably be going to school for "20-odd years" once she started kindergarten.

"I wouldn't like that," she said.

Labels: school