The Transfer of a Trust by Susan Wojciechowski
The realization has finally hit me - my child is starting kindergarten. The syndrome hits me every year just when school is starting. It's always the same. At 7am, the school bus whizzes to a stop at the end of my driveway. My child waves an uncertain goodbye and climbs aboard. The door whooshes shut and the bus rumbles slowly out of sight. I go back on the porch for another cup of tea, a peaceful cup at last. I spread the paper open in front of me and I start to cry. I snap the paper to attention and pretend to read. My tears blur the words into a muddy jumble. This in nonsense. I should be glad school is back in session. No more sticky kitchen floor, no more sliding door left open, no more trail of Kool-Aid across the rug. It's no use. I want to jump in the car and follow the school bus to school. I want to peek around the corner of the building to make sure my baby has found the right classroom, has not gotten knocked over by bullies, has remembered to carry her lunch box off of the bus. But more than that, I want to glimpse into her classroom. I have no need to check the bulletin board or the lesson plans. I want to look into the teachers soul. I want to find some hint of assurance that she is worthy to continue what I have these past years begun. For, when each of my children turned five, they were suddenly snatched from me. I had, up till then, been the overwhelming influence on their development. Their values were my values, their world was shaped by what I wanted them to see, hear, experience. All at once a teacher, a stranger was taking my place. And so, I cry on the first day of school. I cry because my child is entering a world which I cannot, now matter how desperately I long to, intrude. I cry because some stranger is taking over the job, not of teaching my child math or reading, but of nurturing his development of self. And I wonder if she'll do it with the dedication I demand. Each September I fight an overwhelming urge to rush to school to remind the teacher what a very special little person my child is; that he is not just one of a roomful of pupils - he is MY CHILD, would she please, please treat him/her accordingly. Would she be so kind as to try to get to know his/her complex personality, his/her weaknesses. Would she try never to humiliate him or belittle him; would she notice his bad days and on those days treat him ever so gently because he is, after all, not just one of a sea of little bodies - he is special. He's mine. But of course I can't do that, can't dictate caring to every teacher my children will encounter. I only can hope that each one of them will know that for all the fantastic educational tools a teacher might use and for all her mastery of subject matter and exciting lesson plans, and for all of her intelligence, her most basic responsibility will be unfulfilled if the element of caring is missing. And the key to that, in my mind, lies in seeing each pupil as somebody's precious child. So I sit on my back porch, drinking a peaceful cup of tea and pretending to read and hope that my children's teachers wee them as unique, complex, fragile, vulnerable beings. I can only hope that the reason they are teachers after all, is to bring each student ever closer to his potential, not just as a mind, but as a heart and soul as well.
It wouldn't be Chris without a few tears!!! :)
Looking in through the window. Hopefully, she didnt see us peeking in the blinds from the outside window!!!!!!!! ;)
First day!
With our neighbor, Max! They are only one day apart and were even born at the same hospital! Now, off to Kindergarten together!!
Meet the Teacher Night
Ms. Anderson is so nice!
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