I encountered Calvin first this morning. He wandered sleepily but dressed for the day into the bathroom, where I was sculpting my ponytail.
"Hi, buddy. Good morning! Why don't you hop up on the stool and I'll comb your hair?"
I noticed his frown in the mirror as I ran my palm over his tousled mop and turned the tap water on to wet a comb.
"What's the matter?"
"I don't want to go to school today."
"Why not?"
"There's just so many kids around me all the time."
I quickly searched my brain for a bright spot to offer up.
"Remember, it's Tuesday. I'll be volunteering in your class today."
"I know, but that's just one part of the day. I wish today was the last day of school."
"Well, summer vacation is still a few months away, so we just have to get through this part. You know, you have a very special place in your kindergarten."
"Where?"
"It's not a 'where'. You're Calvin. You're the only Calvin in the whole class and the Ms. D needs you there to be a good listener, to be helpful to others and to learn some things."
"When it's summer vacation, what happens?" (I've clearly failed at inspiring in him a sense of duty.)
"Well, you don't have to go to school for three whole months and then you'll be a first-grader in the fall."
"Oh."
He smiles a little and we go downstairs, where Papa has fried eggs, buttered toast and leftover Easter ham waiting at the breakfast table. The day instantly looks better to me, and I hope it does to Calvin, too.
Six months ago I would have felt tremendous guilt sending Calvin off to school on a morning such as this. I would have worried about him getting lost in the herd, feeling bored and under-stimulated in a sea of monotony.
Not today. School hasn't changed. There's still a lot of monotony in the day and Calvin's a mostly quiet and obedient student in a room filled with others like him and a handful of wildcards, too. So I understand his withered enthusiasm.
But I put confidence in this now, because it's what we have to do as parents of elementary-aged children: That short pep talk in front of the mirror and the plate of eggs plus the promise of my short connection with Calvin in his classroom later today will be enough to get him through his school day. And me, too.
And perhaps while he's at school, he just might love something about it (probably P.E.) and when he get's home, we'll have another chance to wrap him in love and understanding all over again.
"Hi, buddy. Good morning! Why don't you hop up on the stool and I'll comb your hair?"
I noticed his frown in the mirror as I ran my palm over his tousled mop and turned the tap water on to wet a comb.
"What's the matter?"
"I don't want to go to school today."
"Why not?"
"There's just so many kids around me all the time."
I quickly searched my brain for a bright spot to offer up.
"Remember, it's Tuesday. I'll be volunteering in your class today."
"I know, but that's just one part of the day. I wish today was the last day of school."
"Well, summer vacation is still a few months away, so we just have to get through this part. You know, you have a very special place in your kindergarten."
"Where?"
"It's not a 'where'. You're Calvin. You're the only Calvin in the whole class and the Ms. D needs you there to be a good listener, to be helpful to others and to learn some things."
"When it's summer vacation, what happens?" (I've clearly failed at inspiring in him a sense of duty.)
"Well, you don't have to go to school for three whole months and then you'll be a first-grader in the fall."
"Oh."
He smiles a little and we go downstairs, where Papa has fried eggs, buttered toast and leftover Easter ham waiting at the breakfast table. The day instantly looks better to me, and I hope it does to Calvin, too.
Six months ago I would have felt tremendous guilt sending Calvin off to school on a morning such as this. I would have worried about him getting lost in the herd, feeling bored and under-stimulated in a sea of monotony.
Not today. School hasn't changed. There's still a lot of monotony in the day and Calvin's a mostly quiet and obedient student in a room filled with others like him and a handful of wildcards, too. So I understand his withered enthusiasm.
But I put confidence in this now, because it's what we have to do as parents of elementary-aged children: That short pep talk in front of the mirror and the plate of eggs plus the promise of my short connection with Calvin in his classroom later today will be enough to get him through his school day. And me, too.
And perhaps while he's at school, he just might love something about it (probably P.E.) and when he get's home, we'll have another chance to wrap him in love and understanding all over again.
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