The first day I brought my daughter to preschool was tough. Letting her go and watching her three year old brave self walk into that little yellow schoolhouse was the ultimate act of trust. I didn't really know these educators, I mean they seemed nice and the preschool certainly had a good reputation in our neighbourhood. Other parents shared positive experiences and I had done my research, but she was my first born, my precious baby, and I was trusting her care to a system beyond our family unit.

The preschool was located on the property of a large urban public elementary school. It was a non-profit preschool tucked into the back corner of the school's property in a stand alone, old yellow building that exuded warmth and care. The building was well maintained and the early childhood educators had clearly designed the early learning environment with intention, professionalism, expertise and a deep ethic of care for the children. The preschool was Reggio inspired and seemed to be always bustling with the laughter of children playing independently. The interior of the school was warm, organized and created to invite children to explore. There was a safe outdoor play space with room for curious minds to traverse, play in the sand, plant seeds in a little garden and simply run about. I could see that the educators had created a space for the children to hold the locus of control for how they would play, imagine and engage with one another. During a continued time when finding child care space is like trying to find a needle in a haystack, I felt lucky that we had found something special.

The first half day went well, we did a gradual entry whereby I was welcomed by the early childhood educators to stay in the garden and play with my daughter while she settled in. As the children lined up to move into the little yellow schoolhouse, the preschool teachers gave me a gentle cue and I hugged my daughter as she joined the group. She stood at the back of the line up and looked at me with unsure wide eyes as I nodded, silently assuring her in our quiet way that she was safe and okay. I recall closing the gate with an anxious hand, knowing that this would be the first letting go of the many independent years yet to come.

Due to the realities of finding child care that was available, high quality and affordable, like many other parents my professional life was on a part time pause as I juggled the new realities of parenthood. On that first afternoon not wanting to be too far from her, I went to a nearby coffeeshop. I tried to pass the time by multi-tasking, responding to emails, returning phone calls, working on a presentation, but truth be told the bulk of my energy was dedicated to anxiously watching the clock. Returning early, I chatted with other parents outside the preschool's fence and soon was relieved to see her smiling face run towards me when the little yellow school doors opened. She was happy and I breathed deeply as I held her in my arms.

Looking back, I recognize the good fortune of finding this preschool and for the experience we had during that moment in time. That little yellow school house and the early education my daughter received are now precious memories in our family's memory bank. I also recognize that my individual experience of trusting the care of my child to a system does not compare to the experiences of others.

I had not thought about the little yellow school house until years later, when I read with a heavy heart about its proposed demolition. Fortunately, the little 112 year old yellow school house was saved from demolition by the Sḵwx̱wú7mesh Úxwumixw (Squamish Nation), and partners, who have recently repurposed and relocated the little yellow school house.

My daughter and I now regularly drive past the little yellow school house's new home on the Xwmélch’tstn (Capilano), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh reserve land of the North Shore. I realized this week as it came into our view, that each day this little yellow school house continues to gift me with two important reminders. The first is the gift of treasured personal memories of the kind early childhood educators, the caring preschool community we became part of and my daughter's sweet younger self. The second gift is the reminder of my commitment to reconciliation by working towards bettering our Canadian early education and child care system so that all families have access to high quality equitable and inclusive learning experiences. Every child and family deserves educational excellence, and it is possible with intention, prioritization and compassion to ensure all beginnings are honoured, protected and joyful.