In-school Bardo

Bardo – Buddhist term – an intermediate state. The term usually refers to the term between death and rebirth. The Wisdon of No Escape, Pema Chodron.

My son is in bardo – the place between comfort in his old school and his end destination of fitting in at his new one. I’ve heard a little through M-ito but mostly late at night or via phone calls while I was away in New Orleans and then Lansing Michigan – working. But the picture is pretty clear to me. My son is in bardo. It’s a hard place to be, but it’s a place of growth. My son doesn’t want to hear that, though. He just wants to be out of bardo and on the shore of fitting in.

M-ito made his first friend during his first week at school. He called them aquaintences up until then. He named his first friend, Jacito, a boy from the other 2nd grade class. They played tag together with some other boys. Tag is one of M-ito’s favorite games. He laughs when he plays and his laughter is a sound that makes you and anyone around you smile. I thought, from my hotel room, listening to Mom-ita tell me of his adventures, that things seemed to be moving along. The process of forming with a new group had begun. I had expected it to be rocky but so far so good.

After he made his first friend, he told Mom-ita that he waited for the other class to come out for recess the next day. He waited by the door. I have this picture of him waiting for the other class to come out. “Will they come out today?” he told me later  he wondered. “Are they out sick?” Two days a week the two classes did not have recess together. He learned this while waiting for them to come out. Then on Friday, M-ito’s friend changed the game of tag to bullfight tag. A different game – out of my son’s comfort zone. He was still in bardo. He didn’t want to play. I know some things about my son and one thing is he likes to have mastery over games he plays. He doesn’t like games that he thinks he’s not good at – especially games that he’ll look bad playing. Embarrasment is a big factor even for 7-year olds. I understand this.

He sat on the fence watching the kids for two days. Mom-ita didn’t know what to do but she waited it out. She bounced her ideas off of me but she knew in her heart what was right for her son. I listened and agreed with her. M-ito’s teacher came to Mom-ita at the end of the second day and said, “I’ve been watching and waiting too. Other kids have asked him to play games bu he’s saying no. I’m not going to let it go on much longer.” The next day she asked M-ito to sit by her so he wasn’t by himself again. Some kids asked him to play bull fight tag then and he said yes. This time he got the rules down and played better. Perhaps the choice of sitting next to the teacher, whom he seems to like, or playing tag pushed him to play. In any case it worked.

He’s played other types of tag since then and played soccer yesterday. He played goalie. He says it’s easy and he likes it – with a shrug. No one else wants to play goalie so he steps up. He found a place from which to participate. I give him a lot of credit. Bardo is not an easy place to be. It’s so much easier to stay in your comfort zone, so much harder to step off into a strange land.

As a father I have found the whole process to have a hint of the unreal about it. I’m experiencing much of it second hand – through Mom-ita. M-ito is close to her because she drives him in and picks him up. She is his lifeline to see at the end of the day. I am the guy he sees most evenings at 6pm – regular time, usually coming home while he’s in the middle of his homework. He doens’t ask me for help, that is Mom-ita’s domain. Even trying to make one day a week driving in with the two of them – it’s still hard to stay part of things. Drop-off happens so quick. Mostly, like so many Dad-ditos these days, I try to catch up on the weekend. You see, I’m in my own bardo too. I’m adjusting to change and allowing this new aspect of our relationship to grow also. It sounds good on paper but it sure is hard to do.

Meeting Your Edge

A Buddhist story related by Pema Chodron goes like this.

A group of travellors gets ready to climb a mountain. After a few hundred feet a few can’t go up any higher so they stop. As the group goes up higher others stop, unable to go further. Finally a few reach the top. Those that stopped along the way, met their edge. They reached a place where the word “no” rang so loudly in their ears that they simply had to stop. The key is that the ones who made it to the top are not the winners. They had no fear of hieghts or had it but it was bearable. The ones who had to stop along the way are not losers either. They simply met their edge and could go no further. Meeting your edge means you have something to learn about yourself, that you need to open your heart to the experience, be kind to yourself and recognize that you have something to learn. Those who made it to the top will meet their edge on some other expedition. Everyone meets their edge, sooner or later in life. Engaging in life means you go up the mountain, you show up for the expedition, not knowing how far you will be able to go.

Sunday I watched my son meet his edge. He’s seven so he meets it often. But I’ve never seen it so viscerally before. A classmate whom he has only just met, had invited him to his birthday party and M-ito went. It was at a rock climbing gym out on Long Island. We’d been there once before on a reconnaissance of the place. The first time we went M-ito climbed half way up. The second time a quarter of the way up, then two thirds of the way up and finally a quarter of the way up, four different lines. I still can’t believe he kept at it even though it was clear that he was not enjoying himself.

At the party I saw all kinds of edge-meeting going on. Some kids did not come so they met their edge in their minds. One boy didn’t put on a harness, though he came for cake and pizza. One boy put on a harness and tried to climb only once, making it up half way then coming down, his arms and legs shaking. Several boys made it up half way and came down. Some made it to the top. One boy left in tears.

M-ito watched and when a few had stopped at the halfway point he gave it at try. He made it a few feet up then stopped. I watched as he tried with all his abilities to make his hand reach up for the next rock. It shook and trembled reached up then down, up then down. It was so painful to watch. Finally he looked down at us and asked to come down. He tried to climb twice, the second time with the same results. He sat down next to me afterwards, angry with himself, his arms crossed across his chest. He wouldn’t let me speak to him.

“You did great,” I said.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You really did your best. It’s only what you could do today. Tomorrow will be different.”

“Be kind to yourself, you did great.” I’m afraid of heights but I can climb in spite of it. Still I know how hard it can be to keep going up. But it didn’t matter what I said.

He walked away from me with a scowl on his face. Mom-ita got him to speak to her by talking about something else. Then he settled in. He recovered about fifteen minutes later and seemed to move on. I had to watch while he processed and dealt with his damaged ego. It broke my heart to see and not be able to do anything about it. But my son is resilient and he seemed to be able to move past it. I wish I could have helped but I’m also glad Mom-ita was there to be of help.

Sometimes it just works that way.

As Pema Chodron says, meeting your edge means you’re showing up for life, you’re engaged on the journey. Practice loving-kindness to yourself and you open to life’s possibilities. Well, it’s something to shoot for.

Classroom Blues

One of the most difficult tasks I’ve had  as a father has been to choose a school for my son. It should be simple. You have a good public school nearby  and you send your child there for free. That’s what I did where I grew up in Nassau County. I didn’t like school too much – there was a lot of drug traffic and some violence and I was glad, breathed a huge sigh of relief, when I left High School. I remember two friends burning their books in the school yard our last day. I can still see the flames in my mind’s eye. I loved books too much to burn them, but I understood the significance of their act. I was tired of learning and had been for a while.

M-ito’s last day of first grade at his school was yesterday. There was a small party – his class had only twelve kids – and a meloncholy air. A good third of the children, including my son, will not be returning next year.

For pre-K we sent him to public school, one for which we were zoned. We found it not to be a good fit for M-ito. I’ve learned that fit is important. A good school for one child will not be a good school for another. M-ito got lost in the pre-K in our neighborhood. He follows rules, raises his hand, does what his teachers tell him, doesn’t speak out of turn, and listens to what his teachers say. What happened to him in pre-K? His teacher didn’t pay attention to him. She didn’t know M-ito outside of his trouble getting his coat on by himself. (He liked it when she helped him put his coat on because she paid attention to him and talked to him, listened to him tell her stories, while she helped him put that jacket on.) He knew how to put his own coat on and he also had figured out a way, within the rules set out for him, to get a little attention for himself. In his class there were three other kids who had behavioral problems. The only other way for my son get attention was to hit others, yell, take other’s toys, push kids in the hall or on the stairs – but that’s not his way. The kids who did this took up 90% of both the teacher and teacher’s aide’s time. The teacher tried to shame the children into leaving their stuffed animals at home in preparation for kindergarten. I still can’t forgive her for that. The school had no idea how to use parents to help them with the children. They said they wanted parental involvement but they didn’t. We pulled him out of there after one year. Many other parents pulled their kids out too.

M-ito didn’t get into the charter schools in our area. He didn’t win a seat based on either of the two lotteries we entered him in. We didn’t have any contacts or “know anyone” who could influence our chances either. We looked at private schools. I still can’t believe it. Both Mom-ita and I went to public schools and I just assumed M-ito would too. After one year’s experience with public school as a parent I don’t want to do it again.

So I starting saying yes to every consulting gig I could get. I still say yes to them all. Private school is expensive – but we both think it’s worth it.

In kindergarten we sent M-ito to a local private school and it was terrific. The school seemed good and the kindergarten teachers were excellent. But around the kindergarten class, in the classes above, there were problems with bullies, and there were behavioral problems that we encountered and heard about throughout the year. We stayed in our kindergarten bubble and tried to ignore the other problems. A child was asked to leave the school in the grade above. A younger brother in M-ito’s grade left with him. This happened past the half way mark of the school year. The administration took a long time to act – but eventually did.

In first grade M-ito overall had a good experience. His teacher was good and the small band of classmates created a nice bubble again within which learning could occur. But another bully appeared in the grade above – and M-ito’s class had recess and gym with him. There was an outbreak of stomach aches in M-ito’s class in the fall because of the upper grade’s less supervised and rough play. They were switched to have recess with the kindergarten. Gym was still held with the upper grade and the threat of the second grade bully was felt all year. He made M-ito’s classmates cry, making fun of them or calling them names when the teacher wasn’t paying attention (which seemed often), and the bully’s own grade suffered his behavior too. The last day of school my son had a long discussion with us about whether he could wear a favorite shirt – a tie-dye shirt – or not. Was the bully going to call him names? Make a comment to him? M-ito stopped wearing any colorful shirt by winter’s end. Pink left the list of his favorite colors. It wasn’t worth it to him to deal with the bully commenting about what he wore. It was safer to go below the radar. M-ito knew which teachers were good in afterschool class (ie: kept control of the kids and didn’t allow bullying) and which did nothing and let the kids run riot. I’m still amazed he made it through ballet all year, walking from his classroom to the music room one floor above in t-shirt and black tights – his leotard hidden underneath. He must have really wanted to dance.

Bullying in a private school is a challenge just as it is in a public school, but the school had and still has no comprehensvie approach to address it. It’s done on a teacher by teacher basis. But not all teachers are good at classroom management. It seems most are not. Private schools also have the issue of  dealing with troublesome children whose parents make large donations of money to the school. Behavior that should not be permitted sometimes is. That’s another thing I learned.

And there are good teachers in good schools, bad teachers in good schools, good teachers in bad schools and bad teachers in bad schools. It’s tough to get a match. Friends of ours with kids in an upper grade suffered through a year with an abusive teacher. the teacher will not be coming back next year. There was some disturbing violence done to a teenager in an upper grade also. A teacher was fired. A child was expelled. What is the atmosphere of a school in which all these things happen? How is it taken in and absorbed by my son? Should I pretend that it doesn’t affect him? I know that it already has. But how much? Is he safe in his school? Administration dealt with each problem, but always seemed slow to react. I’ve found that administrators of schools are always slow to react. It’s not easy running a school with all these variables.

It’s been hard to pretend my son’s in a bubble when events happen around him. I can pretend but at a certain point I need not to. I worry what will happen next and whether it will happen to a child I know or if it will happen to my son. I wonder if every school is that way. Many people have told me it is so and that I just need to take the good with the bad and leave it at that. Others say, “boys will be boys.” I hate that. Boys are “boys” because parents and schools allow them to be. It is fostered by the school environment. There you have it. That is part of what is eating at me.

When I was in junior high school my best friend was hit by a train walking home from school in a downpour. I witnessed a kid I played football with – who later overdosed in high school – beat up a bully he’d been paid to take down. I witnessed it and walked away. Many of my friend’s lunches had been stolen by the bully. Many of us had been pushed around in the halls by him and his gang, had our books knocked out of our hands by him. I played football so was exempt from much of it. My smarter friends who didn’t play sports were not. 

For this upcoming year, the tuition went up a significant amount. We were notified only a few months ago. We’d already been looking at other options for a school but that was just about the last straw. We decided M-ito would be going to another private school in the fall. 

M-ito will be leaving behind friends as will we. Many families are leaving for similar reasons. Many are just tired of fighting and advocating again and again for slow and only partially satisfactory responses. Is this the way all schools work? Does change move so slowly? We’ve tried to find a school that matches the needs of our son. Will it be the right school for him? We hope so. We’ve investigated this new one in depth but the truth is you never know. There are so many variables. There is the school itself. What the school says it does and how it says it functions and how it in reality acts and functions sometimes are two different things. How teachers will be with your child may or may not work. What will be the mix of children? Will there be bullies? Will the staff be capable of handling him or her? How will my son fit? These are the thoughts that wake me in the early morning hours and stare at the ceiling with my heart racing.

We went to M-ito’s last day of first grade with heavy hearts. Other parents who are staying are not happy with us for leaving. Lines have been drawn, pickets thrown up and demilitarized zones created. It’s been lonely for Mom-ita. These are women she has called friends. Now some won’t talk to her. That’s another tricky part of your child’s school. You meet parents and develop new friendships. Your child’s friendships bring on new relationships for you as a parent also, whether you want them to or not.

I’m sure the parents who are keeping their children in the school are questioning themselves just are we are questioning ourselves. Should we stay? Should we leave? They care about their children and we care about our child. M-ito feels it too. He played Uno with his teacher and friends most of the party, smiling and laughing. But he has told us he’s scared about going to a new school and having to make new friends. We’re scared too. It’s a daunting prospect. Change is a scary thing. But sometimes status quo is even scarier.

And change is not only about loss, even if today it’s hard to see around it. It is also about growth. As a parent I have to remember to honor this both for myself and for M-ito. And for us, we hope, it will bring about a better education for our son.

The Men’s Room Rag

It’s an hour before M-ito’s dance recital and we’re rounding the corner of the hall in his school that leads to the bathroom. M-ito has to go – bad. we dash the last twenty yards as if in a race. There are two doors, one the men’s room, one the woman’s. M-ito hesitates and looks back at me. He has taken a step towards the woman’s room. Then, as if he realizes it’s me and not Mom-ita, he hangs his head and goes over to the men’s room.

“I guess I have to use the men’s room,” he says between gritted teeth, then scurries into the dark room where urinals, pee on toilet seats and toilet paper on the floor rule. “I hate this bathroom,” he says softly.

I have to tell M-ito to wait at the stall door while I maneuver past him (it’s a very tight fit) with a wet paper towel to wash off the toilet seat which is, indeed, covered with other boy’s pee. I think some gets on my pants leg. I dry the seat while M-ito hops from foot to foot. 

“It’s coming Dad-dito, hurry!” he says, scrinching up his face into a knot.

“Done,” I say as I flatten myself against the stall wall and M-ito spins to sit on a now clean and urine-less seat. I crouch down inches from M-ito as he relieves himself, my back pressed against the door.

“Why,” he asks me, “is the boys’ bathroom such a mess? Why is it so dirty and why is there no light? It needs to have light.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Boys tend to make a mess in here. They pee all over the toilet seats and throw their paper on the floor.”

“Why do they do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wish you were Mom-ita so I could go in the girl’s room. It’s so clean and light in there. And it doesn’t smell bad like it does in here.”

“I understand,” I say, my feelings not hurt at all. “I’d rather be in there too.”

“They should put a light right over our head so we could see,” he says looking up, his face in shadow. “Or right here on the wall. Why don’t they do that?”

“I don’t know, son.”

Ten minutes later, M-ito is lighter, walking easier, and still drying his hands on his pants legs as we walk back to the playground for another fifteen minutes of Pokémon play with his friend, Willito. Then it’s time for his ballet recital.

“Feel better?” I ask.

He nods and runs to his friend after we cross the street.

Boys Ballet – Hand Holding Hand Wringing

M-ito told me a week ago that he can’t wait until after his ballet recital so that he never has to go to class again. “I can’t wait,” he said. It made my heart sink.

I have some idea what it has been like for him, as a boy, to do ballet, but this really brought it home to me – how much I don’t know about his world. I know he has developed ways to allow himself to do ballet in school. I know that he has two lives on Wednesday afternoon – one in school and another in the music room during ballet class. I know that he walks the gauntlet from his room to the music room successfully – one floor, fifty feet and a flight of stairs – by wearing a black fencing t-shirt with a skeleton fencer on it over his leotard. He has to pass through groups of children in after-school who look up to see what he’s doing, what he’s wearing, where he’s going. I know a couple of kids (one bully in particular in the grade above) have made comments to him about his dancing ballet, but he doesn’t talk about it anymore. When he gets into the music room, the door is closed and he dances with three older girls in a small four person class. I know he enjoys dancing – I’ve seen his face and watched him in class. He is graceful and beautiful. I’ve seen him talk about the different moves he’s learned and he’s demonstrated them at home – with great excitement. But it’s been a while since he’s done that. I also know there are things he hasn’t talked about with us – that have gotten to him too. 

The recital is a public demonstration of his dancing abilities in front of his peers. It is an opening up of his behind-closed-doors dancing self. This week he finally told Mom-ita that it’s the hand-holding in the dance choreography that’s embarassing him and that he doesn’t want to do – that he can’t do it. He’s told us he doesn’t want to do the recital a couple of times already and we’ve averted his backing out by getting a detail here and there from him about why, that we can address so he’ll take one more step towards it. Right now hand holding is too much for him in front of his peers.

I was elected to talk to his dance teacher. She was upset when I told her M-ito’s plans not to take dance classes anymore after the recital. She understood right away what I was saying and what M-ito must be going through. I asked her if she could change the choreography so M-ito didn’t have to hold hands during the dance with one of his partners. She said she’d change it and talk to him about it. 

This afternoon when I came home, M-ito, for the first time in a month, showed me the “cool” moves they were doing in the recital instead of the hand-holding piece. He was excited about it and smiled while he showed me how he ended the sequence in “fifth position.”

Today we’re four weeks away from the recital, but one step closer.

Know Your Pokeman

When Star Wars was in (which it was for the last six months) M-ito knew all of the character’s names, each of the episodes story lines from beginning to end (each that we allowed him to watch) which is what comes from watching them 1 or 2 dozen times each, and had memorized all the key lines for major and minor characters. He also loves Legos and his knowledge of each of the models he built added to his reference base. He carried the Legos characters into school each day so they could play with them together. He had, amongst his peers, a mastery of the subject and so, on the playground during recess, he was in with the boys.

The shift to playing more with boys occurred with the rise of Star Wars when school started back in September. Then about a week or two ago – we’re not sure exactly how long but it’s about that long – a change occurred. Pokeman took over and M-ito’s knowledge base of Pokeman is very very low.

The girls are, “playing games I don’t want to play,” he told us when we asked.

The boys – some of whom have older brothers who were weened on Pokeman – had mastery. They didn’t allow M-ito to play with them. “You don’t know them (the characters) well enough so you can’t play,” they said to him. My son is smart and is a leader in his class. For the first time with this group he found himself outside of the social circle. He’s been playing by himself all week during what used to be his favorite subject – recess. We could tell, he was crushed.

Mom-ita, of course figured this out quickly and came up with a solution. She brought him to ToyRus today and they bought some Pokeman action figures. They came home and M-ito showed me Chatot and Palkia and I could see his face light up. The three of us looked on the internet for Pokeman resources and Mom-ita found a site with descriptions of each of the characters he had bought. In case you didn’t know there is a collectible card game a collectible figure game, and over ten years of gaming history to wade through. It was not easy to find, but Mom-ita persisted.

M-ito now knows each of his character’s type, and special powers, size, weight, and height. Mom-ita also made sure our son bought one character that he knew no other boy had. He will go into school tomorrow with knowledge, and power, and a backpack full of Pokeman action figures. My guess is the water dragon Palkia will be in the mix.  The boys who played with him when they were all into Star Wars must now let him in to the land of Pokeman. The look on my sons face is heartbreaking.

I never would have figured out how to help him. I was stuck unable to see why anyone would not want to play with my son. I just couldn’t get past that. My wife is amazing. To her it’s not rocket science. It’s simply knowing our son.

The Suite Life redux

M-ito isn’t allowed to watch The Suite Life of Zack and Cody. It seems like a harmless show and it’s Disney. I know, I know. But have you watched the show? The two kids are a little older than M-ito and they generally behave badly throughout the show. They talk back to adults. They do what they’re told not to do. One treats girls badly. The adults act like fools. And the two boys, as a reward, have fun and laugh a lot. I smiled watching an episode. M-ito loves the show. But … Mom-ita has banned it. 

What happens is he watches the show and then we eat dinner and his behavior deteriorates. He talks back. His manners drop. Basically, he starts acting like Zack and Cody. So he can’t watch the show anymore. This is as it should be. I’ll miss it. At least there’s still Phineas and Ferb.

The Pink Leotard

Maybe if it was blue the leotard would have been in my laundry.

Ballet started last week and M-ito is in a class with three older girls (7, 8, and 9 years old). He’s the only boy. He’s really enjoying himself and his teacher says he’s doing wonderfully. I made sure I could come home early from work last week and this week so that I could be there to take him to his first classes. He’s growing out of his leotard and black leggings. My son is growing. Everybody comments on how tall he has grown. 

On Monday I had to get his ballet clothes from the laundromat – we’ve been having it picked up and delivered lately – a real luxury since it’s expensive, but I haven’t had the energy lately to do it all myself. I couldn’t have the clothes delivered in time to give M-ito his ballet clothes so I had to stop at the laundromat and get those two pieces, his leotard and his black leggings and bring them to him before his class. We need to get new ones – a second pair but we haven’t gotten around to it yet. At the laundromat I couldn’t find his leotard. It’s pink. The owner asked me, after I’d looked through the pile of beautifully folded clothes and not been able to find it, to describe it. I did and a light went off above her head. 

“I’m sorry,” she said in her broken English. “My worker thought this was another families , in your bag by mistake, and we put it in their laundry. They have a little girl.”

“No,” I said, still smiling. “It’s my son’s. He dances ballet. It’s a little small, since he’s grown so much over the summer, but it’s his.”

She nodded and handed me his leotard. “I’m sorry.”

Later, waiting for his class to begin, M-ito and I sit on the couch outside the music room. He leans against my side. I wrap my arm around him. We’re in the middle of watching Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. I have to tell him about Luke loosing his arm in his fight with Darth Vader, so he’s not too scared to watch it. I’m wondering how I’m going to explain this to him. 

His teacher opens the door and smiles at M-ito and Liqua, an eight year old girl he’s dancing with. His teacher has ten little girls behind her ready to go to their parents, all ages 4-6. M-ito’s grown out of that group.

“Liqua and M-ito,” the teacher says. “You can go in and start stretching while I take the rest of the kids downstairs to their after-school classroom.”

M-ito gives her a big smile, looks at Liqua and runs into the room with her, dropping down into their first stretch – what I would call upavista konasana if it was a yoga class. His teacher returns with her two other students and the door closes behind her. I can hear her voice through the door. Class, once again, has begun.

First Grade Stress

My son has too much homework, a test every week on spelling words, and a stomach ache from the stress. I know it’s only his first week in school, but this is a private school and first graders should still be playing most of the time. They’re only six years old, and some are still only 5. 

Even if his teacher didn’t say the word test, and she didn’t (a parent did) the students heard the word test and now everyone knows they have a test every week. Why can’t it just be an in-class worksheet? At six the most stressful decision a child should have to make during his/her day is what to have for lunch or which game to play. And M-ito is so good – in the I-have-to-do-everything-my-teacher-says meaning of the word good – that he will not give up until all the homework is completed. Why does he have homework everyday the first week of school? Why does he say school is not fun anymore when he loved kindergarten? I’m crushed and annoyed and angry because there are so many ways to learn imaginatively in first grade. Kids imaginations are on overdrive at this age and this creativity should be kindled. Osho, in his book on Creativity says we extinguish creativity in our children at an early age in school. I wonder if he is right. I’m overreacting to some degree, I know, I know, but I’m not to another. I have no doubt that M-ito will learn to read and write and spell and do math in time. I’m not worried about that. He’s a bright child. I have no doubt he will want to get good grades in high school when ranking and grade point average have meaning to colleges. But right now, in first grade, where he doesn’t get letter or number grades and where gpa stands for great paper airplanes and is a mere shadow of what’s to come in the far far future, I want him to enjoy learning because it’s fun with a capital F. 

Nay-sayers say “but he has to learn about the real world someday.” And I say sure, but not today at 6 years old. He can wait ’till fourth grade at least. There was a great article in Mothering Magazine last month about the ineffectiveness of homework – how it doesn’t help kids learn and mostly just turns them off on school and creates tremendous amounts of stress for kids and their parents. 

Today my son said he’s stressed about his weekly test on spelling. He’s only had one so far and he’s already feeling it. I’m banging my head against the wall here. Why do so many parents believe in the myth of more work equals more learning? Have they seen the DOE’s graduation rate lately in NYC? It’s not even 50% from high school. Have they looked a the test scores? Have they gone up due to the No Child Left Behind act and it’s fallout of standardized testing at earlier and earlier ages? The clear answer is no. School should be fun. Learning should be fun. Children should enjoy learning and develop a lifelong relationship with education – a positive relationship with education – not one based on stress and fear. 

My son is stressed and he was crying this morning because he didn’t want to go to school today. He said his stomach hurt – not enough to go to the doctors but enough to stay out of school. Then, after many tears Mom-ita got him talking and we found out his story of stress and woe. Mom-ita talked to his teacher (I am traveling today and have to get things second hand through her after M-ito is asleep) and we were left hopeful but apprehensive. Our son only gets to go through first grade once. I’m proud of him for telling us how he felt and I’m proud he brought it up to his teacher in school on his own (Mom-ita was told this by his teacher). But I’d still rather there was no homework and no testing at all. At least not this year, or next. Heck the Waldorf Schools don’t give homework until fourth grade. Unfortunately they’re not in our neighborhood or nearby for that matter and there are some problems with the cult-like nature of their curricula… I guess nothings perfect.

First Bicycle

M-ito went through two tricycles – neither one of which he used much except on the floor of our apartment and for climbing on to get to the comfy chair from the back (it’s a kind of household mount everest). Mostly he wasn’t interested in them. He didn’t seem to have the drive to drive the three wheels. I shrugged and moved on as did Mom-ita. 

Last week he said he wanted a bike with training wheels. Yesterday, he still wanted one and said he wanted to ride it around all over the place. We said he could ride it on the sidewalk and at the park. That’s how deals are made. 

I watched him pick out his own bike last evening. He had five choices and it wasn’t easy. I watched him unable to choose between cool colors and a bell. The right bike would have had a bell, a back rack, a hand brake (hey they have them for kids these days), red in color, and just the right feeling. He sat on each bike at least three times and rode them back and forth across the floor of Spokesman Cycles (a bike store at Atlas Mall). The staff (both young kids and the manager) were excellent. They answered questions. They raised and lowered seats. They brought out all their different bells for M-ito to look at. They searched for red tassles and said they’d order them for us when they found out they were out. Did I mention they let him ride all over the floor?  

Amidst all this, M-ito looked and watched and rode. I didn’t want him to rush. Sometimes I notice, under pressure, he will simply choose something that is closest because he can’t decide. I’ve seen him in agony over which color plastic frog to buy then take home a color that he wished he hadn’t. This time I didn’t want him to rush. I wanted him to really choose, to breathe and make a choice that he knew was right from the tip of his head to ends of his toes. Se we looked at bikes for 45 minutes. He narrowed it down to two. He tried them out again, settled his hands on his hips, looked at us with a big question in his eyes then settled in and nodded, “Yes, this one.”

It’s orange, has triangle brace training wheels, a hand brake, some room to grow, a bell with a horse on it, red tassels on order, and that special something that only a six year old boy can see. It’s that something that speaks of adventures riding across sidewalks, speeding down hills, coasting into school, catching bugs between his teeth, and rescuing wild animals with.

I was so proud of him.

Then on the way out, he almost ran into a wall and used my foot as a brake. He smiled a grin from ear to ear the whole time. So it goes.