Without Magic Wands

I had the honor of speaking to some parents tonight about the transition from Special Ed preschool to kindergarten.

And as I stood before them, Elias was no longer a week from turning ten but five, running down the halls of Northwood crying to go home.

(Picture taken during Elias's first week of kindergarten 8/09)

And I was a younger Mama weeping in my car, trusting my child to the not-yet-known hands of professional educators, wanting to take him back with me but knowing that was no longer my role.

Pre-school was one thing. A few hours a day, a few days a week. But kindergarten represented the beginning of the end of baby-hood, as he entered a world I could no longer attempt to control, exposing my son, with all his complexities, to the hidden rules of school.

The schedules and bells, the social pecking orders, and all those boxes that can slowly restrict our sense of self, until we no longer recognize the natural light within. The lines and dots and letters from A to F (skipping, of course, E).

Oh, school.

A place too of wonder and risk and friendship and challenge and identity and accomplishment and pride.

I am the child of private school educators, a product of both public and private schools, and a strong advocate for free and public education that serves all.

Every last one.

I live in an oil-rich state that doesn't adequately fund it's public school-- and as a Title One Counselor, I am all too aware of the desperate needs of our students.

My son entered kindergarten legally blind, wearing diapers, and walking with the help of forearm crutches we call canes.

And yet he knew how to count to fifty and to use the word abyss in proper context.

Yes, he has needs but don't all our kiddos.

We have kindergarten students living in over-crowded trailers, witnessing alcoholic rages, molested, abused, neglected.

We have students who come to this country as refugees, who know only trauma, as they force their tongues to pronounce English words.

We have students whose parents work two to three jobs just to survive and spend their time shuttled between caregivers wondering who will bring them home.

We have well-to-do kindergartners who only wish their Mom or Dad would put down the phone and play with them, just this once, just for a moment, please.

Oh the needs.

And yet kindergarten teachers somehow, magically, create a community of learners where children sit criss-cross applesauce and say their ABC's.

Where students, despite their differences, sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, together, and every last one of them shines a wee bit brighter because of what they've learned from each other.

(Sunset tonight, taken from the parking lot of Northwood Elementary School)

I am truly in awe of kindergarten teachers.

If you know one, give them a bow, or a standing ovation.

They deserve it, every last one.

Comments

[Greta]

"...and all those boxes that can slowly restrict our sense of self, until we no longer recognize the natural light within."

Wow, that portion of a sentence captures what takes others a thesis or book or a lifetime to understand. I'm still working on it.

Amazing writing :)

[Sara Sutton Fell]

Christy, you're such an amazing writer. Thank you for this post, for many different reasons. And I just sent a heartfelt thank you to our Kindergarten teachers. :-)

[Christy]

Thank you Sara and Greta for giving me the faith to keep writing on a day when everything else seemed to go wrong. Your support means more than you know;)