who ministers to whom

Over my house, cloudy all night. Sure the "traditional peak" of the meteor flurry happened just as forecast, but unavailable for viewing in my area. Blackout. Pay-per-view? Closed-circuit? I don't know, but evidently I forgot to order it. I went out every 30 minutes until 3:30a, but always cloud cover, like the white noise on a scrambled channel. When I went out at 3:30a, they were playing the national anthem, so I knew I had to go to bed.
I set every alarm clock in the house so as not to make the kids late for their first day of school. Jack was up after midnight "showing work" on an Algebra pre-test that was due today. Will was up just as late worrying about the first day. "Dad, I'm exhausted but I can't get to sleep. Molly was fast asleep and peaceful, as she had been since 8:30.
When I woke up at 5:45, the whole house was a-flurry. All the lights were on, the air was charged with adrenalin. Jack was in the shower, Will was running all over the house in a panic, looking for his shoes. Molly was quietly sitting at the kitchen table calmly eating a bowl of cereal. Once Will found his shoes, I brushed his hair with Molly's brush, then couldn't find it to brush Molly's. Later, Jack found it in the cereal cabinet when he was ready to eat.
All this time, it is raining you know. WIll and Molly were ready 15 minutes before the bus was to arrive and headed out the door toward the stop. I made them wait at the front door to stay dry. Longest 15 minutes of their lives. It quit raining at just the right time, and off they went toward a fresh start, a new beginning.
Jack wanted me to drive him so that I could help him find what needed to be found at his new school. He pumped me up by telling me how he'd needed me last year, and how he was so proud that I'd helped all those kids learn to open their combination locks. So I agreed to drive him. "What time does school start," I asked. "I don't know," he replied. We scoured every page of "important info" that had been sent home, or picked up at registration. Nada. We looked for schedules on the internet where you can find anything you need to know about Irmo Middle School - except what time school starts. I decided to go the old-fashioned route and pick up the phone and dial into the queue and await an actual person's answer at the school. No such misery. A live person answered and informed, and we're off. Jack's home room was within 25 yards of where I parked the car. As we crossed the parking lot, I told him I had to keep checking myself to keep from reaching over and grabbing my 7th grade son's hand. He looked up at me and smiled and reached out and grabbed my hand, which he held all the way to the front door.
No little girls' lockers to open. No chasing the clock to find a classroom. Just the paradoxically proud and difficult task of sending my first born on to yet another chapter of life. Who ministers to whom when a hand reaches out to grab another?