The van driver loaded Harrison into the van and took him to preschool.  He had the look on his face like, "Hey, what's going on here?"  I can't really say he looked scared, just uncertain and not really sure what to think.  There wasn't a long drawn out good-bye; the van driver recommended it this way.  She's been doing it for many years, so I heeded her advice.  As the van drove off, my wife went back into the house to get her things for work, and when she came back out (I was watching the van drive off until I couldn't see it anymore), she had tears in her eyes.  "Our little boy is going to school," was all she could say.  I didn't say anything at first; I just hugged her and wished her a good day.  As she got into her car, I looked at her and said, "I know.  Things just flew by too fast."  My wife left for work, leaving me, for the first time in a long time, alone.I walked back into the house and sat down on the couch.  The complete silence that surrounded me was, I guess you could call it, confusing.  I wasn't sure what to do or how to handle the next 7 hours.  One thing for sure was that I would spend much of it missing my son.  One would think I would be doing Tom Cruise's dance from the movie "Risky Business," but I didn't.  I found myself turning on the television to the channel that played the "Clifford" cartoon that Harrison loves so much.  A few times, I thought that Harrison would come running out of his room, demanding my attention, but he didn't.  I thought that Harrison may come out, and I would smell that his diaper needed to be changed, but he didn't.  I would take the messy diapers many times over to get my playmate back.  I soon faced the fact and realization that my little boy is in school and will be for a long time to come.  Not more than an hour after Harrison left, the phone rang.  I was hoping it would be the school asking me to come get Harrison, but it wasn't.  It was my mother, calling to see how Harrison's send-off went.  She also asked how I was doing.  She knows how much I love my son and how much I was going to miss him.  She is also one of the few people who, I think, can sense how deep the connection is between me and Harrison.  My mother (and father) are the greatest, and I model most of my parenting after them.I asked my mother how she handled it, and she simply said that this is for the best.  She also said that Harrison needs it, and once I see the positive effects, I will know I made the right decision.  I did take comfort in that, a little.  It didn't make things easier that day, though.  I wasn't the only one who was a little sad.  Oakley (the dog) stood by the back door whining.  This was the time of the day where Harrison would stand by that door and laugh at the dog.  Oakley would run and jump around on the deck.  And sometimes (weather permitting), Harrison would go outside and play with Oakley.  The continued silence in the house reconfirmed that this was how it was going to be, leaving me with hours on end to think about it.  Am I being a little overdramatic?  Maybe, but I just love my son too much not to be scared and concerned for him.  I don't know if Harrison understood me that morning before the van arrived, but I told him that he would return; he would come back.  I told him that I would be waiting for him, ready to play our games and to say "hi" to Oakley.  I stood by my word.  I was waiting on the front steps when the van pulled up, and Harrison returned.  He had a picture he colored in his backpack, and his fingers were a little stained from finger-painting.  We played our games; we said "hi" to the dog.  We did all this between all the hugs and kisses I gave him.  There were tears in my eyes through all this, and I will never be ashamed to admit it.  I could tell he was happy to be home, and I did give him that glass of chocolate milk.