I was looking forward to it more than him. For days I felt butterflies running wild in my tummy. I had mild panic attacks in the run up to the actual day. A dozen what-ifs clouded my mind although he appeared to be quite oblivious to the excitement I was harbouring in my heart.

My son's first day in school. So what if it's only kindergarten? To me, it represents a rite of passage — the start of an educational journey that will go on for a large part of his childhood.

When the day did come, it turned out to be more eventful for me than him.

Everything went like clockwork. He got up early, wore his new uniform, got into his new shoes, held the handle of his trolley bag and bid goodbye to his father. With a heady mix of eagerness and anticipation, we got into the car. I dropped him off at school, handing him over to his new teachers.

At dismissal time, I visited the school's parking lot. "He will be in bus number 32," the transport officer informed me.

And a moment later, "Oh wait, no. He'll be in bus no 11."

"OK, great," I said, still lost in my "aw-my-son-has-started-school" air. I casually walked over to bus number 11 and said a ‘my-child-will-be-in-your-bus' hello to the driver. He happily smiled back and informed me that no, he won't be. "See, his name has been struck off," he said, brandishing his list at me.

He might be in bus number 31, he offered helpfully. When I called the driver of bus number 31, he claimed my son wasn't in his vehicle.

In all this confusion, I answered a call from my husband. I briefly shouted, "I can't find him," into the phone and disconnected. Apparently not, but more on this later. Hysterical by now, I screamed, "Where's my boy?" at the transport officer. Almost reduced to tears, standing in the parking lot amidst a sea of 40-odd yellow buses, for a brief moment I considered shouting my son's name at the top of my voice.

A small group of drivers, monitors and, maybe parents who had come to pick up their wards, surrounded me while I was haranguing the hapless transport officer. A few minutes later, the school principal arrived. I guess some member of her staff must have informed her about this mad woman screaming blue murder about her missing child.

Lost and found

Displaying remarkable equanimity despite my agitated state, she calmly listened to what I had to say. I wanted to tell her about the whole mix-up with the buses but in my emotionally-charged state, the words came out all jumbled up. Something like this: "First bus 32, then changed, now lost, can't see him. My son… how this … you should be… initial hiccups but… first day..."

Fortunately, I was prevented from further embarrassment. I saw his class teachers emerge from behind a bus. They had put him in bus number 31, after all.

The relief I felt at finally seeing my "lost" son melted my anger and made me apologise to every one.

I then did what I had come to do, see my son off while he boarded the first school bus of his life.

Just at that moment, my husband announced his arrival with screeching tyres. He had overheard everything; see I had not properly disconnected the call. He slammed his car door, ready to have it out with the school authorities.

"Please," I begged, "I have already caused a big scene." Nevertheless, he strode over to the principal who disarmed him with a smile. He tried to make some veiled threats which didn't hold any water as the "missing child" had been found.

Every one knows teenagers are often embarrassed to be seen with their parents.

For our son, that day arrived much, much sooner. Luckily for us, at three he's too young to grasp the drama his parents created on his first day at school.