"Good morning birds," I said, as the kids and I trudged out of the trailer, into the not-quite light of 7:30 a.m., in September, in Alaska, and the Stellar Jays greeted us with their calls.
"That's why I don't want to go to school," Elias said, my boy who barely ate a spoonful of his cinnamon spice oatmeal, choosing to stretch and rub his eyes instead.
Its early.
"What? Why?" I asked, as I threw his canes and the kids' backpacks in the back of the Honda.
"Because of the birds."
"Ah, yeah, that makes sense."
Despite Elias's morning comments, he walks into his new middle school easily, and almost always walks out at 2:25 with a smile. "The day goes so fast," he told me yesterday. And later: "I like my school."
Olive seems more clingy than normal. Giving me lots of extra hugs at her classroom door, leaning her head against my soft belly. This morning a girl she met at Bluegrass Camp walk right past Olive without saying hello.
Its still early.
I sat in the car and watched Olive on the playground for morning recess, she stood on the side and watched other kids play. She walked around the edges. She saw a boy she knew and walked up to him but he ran towards the play equipment where some other boys waited for him. Tears welled in my eyes as I watched my daughter navigate this new land.
Its hard being the new kid in town.
And though I know she's already making friends, she's still sometimes standing on the sidelines waiting to be picked to play, her big brown eyes watching other kids move about between long time buddies with ease.
"What did you play at recess today?" I asked last night at dinner, as learning about recess often reveals so much more than what goes on in the classroom. Olive loves learning, she's a rule follower, a teacher pleaser, loves being part of a group, in the classroom she shines-- recess, well thats where the kids make the rules, and with girls especially, there is always someone left out.
The first week of school Olive told me a girl was mean to her, saying she couldn't play with another girl she met at soccer camp. "What did you do?" I asked.
"I followed them around," she answered.
Ugh.
My stomach turned at the image of my strong-willed creative child walking a few steps behind the power girl who rejected her.
We talked about other options, finding someone else to play with, doing her own thing. In this case the older sister of the girl Olive wanted to play with came along and included my daughter.
"And then the other girl was kinda nice," Olive said.
Bleh.
Girls: I hate the passive aggressive exclusion games we somehow learn to play as children, some women never giving up the skewed social rules of leaving others out.
Last night when I asked Olive about recess, she answered, "Well I didn't really play."
I pictured her standing, hood up like this morning, watching other kids laugh and chase and hold hands as they skipped across the playground with ease.
"What did you do?"
"I did the monkey bars." she answered.
"Well that's playing," I said, and it dawned on me that maybe to her playing is when she is interacting with other kids, part of a group, creating games, acting out parts. And I remembered her tears from Sunday night and her familiar words: Elias doesn't ever play with me. Not in the way she longs for, at least, in the realm of kid language and make believe.
"Were there other kids doing the monkey bars too?" I asked.
"Yeah," she answered, and she went on to tell me how she can now skip bars, rising from the table to demonstrate in David's kitchen before returning to her seat and happily carving her carrot with her one front tooth.
Its still so early.
I remember moving from Connecticut to Ireland, when I was five-and-a-half, a year younger than Olive is now, arriving at the end of summer before the start of school, the days still long with daylight, my brother Andrew and I watching the Irish kids play soccer in the street out of our upstairs bedroom window, so foreign to us, not knowing then that when the sabbatical year ended, and our family returned to the states, I'd be in tears as I said goodbye to my new best friends.
Olive will navigate the female friendship world, just as I did, and my Mom before me, and her mother before us, and on back through the line of women forging relationships, one with another, figuring out who to hold onto with time, and who to stop following behind.
I can't watch from the parking lot.
Sometimes I just need to start my car and drive away. Trust my daughter to swing across those bars, sometimes skipping one, sometimes falling, rising up, dusting off her scabby knees, and running to wherever her path leads next.
Oh, I was so one of those girls when I went to Miss Porter's School- I hated it. I was a tom boy- a horse rider- an athlete and I came across so many cruel girls- wealthier, prettier, etc- and I was so clueless. BUT, it did make me stronger and to learn what is important. I was a fifth generation to go there and I DEFINITELY DID NOT SEND MY DAUGHTER THERE- girls and women can be so cruel for such stupid reasons. Keep her strong Christie!!!
Posted by: Noel G Dennehy | 09/22/2016 at 04:42 PM