praying him home: Happy Meet the Teacher Day

It's Meet the Teacher time again at Christian Academy. The school is abuzz with children and parents, bringing in school supplies and ALL THE PAPERWORK and gearing up for the first day of school on Wednesday.

Remember last year's Meet the Teacher Day? Paul had only been home ten weeks and I was a nervous wreck about the start of school. I ~~wanted~~ needed him to go to school, and I wanted him to go to CAL, but there were so many questions. Would he be ready? Would it be too hard? CAL didn't have an English Language Learner program at the time, so how would we work on his fluency? Would he fit in socially? Behaviorally? Trauma impacts the developing brain, ya'll, in a myriad of ways.

We knew we were on a day-by-day plan. His teacher was wonderful, is wonderful, and she was willing to take him without knowing anything about his academic readiness (we weren't able to give him the admissions test because he didn't speak enough English). I had the Jefferson County ELL program on the back burner, and I was also contemplating homeschool if worse came to worse. (I should remind you that I am a school COUNSELOR, not a teacher, and the thought of homeschooling gave me hives. Literal hives.) On Meet the Teacher Day I was so ramped up with nervous energy while trying to appear calm that I could have powered the school's electrical grid.

We had prepared SO WELL. We bought the school supplies and discussed the school supplies and pored over the yearbook and visited the school. (Once or twice a week all summer long.) We had mastered just the right mix of positive excitement with reassuring calm. Trent took off work to provide backup for me as I was sort of supposed to be working. There were a gazillion people but we navigated the hallways and walked into the classroom and found his table and put his backpack in his cubby. He listened to the stories and watched the other children for cues. He was golden. GOLDEN. My brave, strong-hearted little man.

Until he wasn't. Until he got the look - the fight or flight look - and I had to scurry after him into the hallway and I didn't know what was wrong because he didn't have the words. And I was a wreck because WHAT IS WRONG? and what are we going to do if we can't even manage Meet the Teacher Day? And then I finally figured out what was wrong and realized that what was wrong was wrong because of something I had done, something I had done without even realizing, without even THINKING, and that somehow made it better but also so much worse.

I hugged him and kissed him and apologized and sent him home with Trent while I walked upstairs absolutely sobbing. Not discrete, sympathetic tears, but an ugly, hiccupping, snot-nosed cry.

This does not engender confidence in parents of elementary school children, I realize, to see the school counselor crying hysterically at Meet the Teacher Day.

The second grade teachers, whose rooms my office sits between, were absolutely wonderful and reassuring. I remembered that we are often harder on ourselves than others are on us. Sometimes the school counselor needs to cry on someone else's shoulders.

And my fears that such a rocky start would lead to an excruciatingly difficult school year were absolutely unfounded. He did so well, and his teacher was so patient, and he caught up to what he had missed and trucked along with everyone else.

And today at Meet the Teacher Day I almost forgot to worry because he already knows his teacher (and she is wonderful), and he has several great friends in class, and this year I knew not to remove the school supplies from his backpack until I asked him if I could do it or if he wanted to (and I got a wave of the hand like, "I don't even care, Mom. Leave me alone so I can color this butterfly.")

I didn't even cry. Except maybe a few discrete, sympathetic tears at how much he's grown, at what a blessing he is, at how brave and strong. Happy Meet the Teacher Day!