As it turns out, Ford hates school. He dreads it like a fat set of immunizations, asking every night whether the next day is a school day, telling me that he’s already feeling sick; he asks me every morning if it’s a school day, and tells me that he’s not going to school; he runs away from the classroom on some mornings, bolting back towards the car. This is a lot to pay, on top of tuition, for the three hours each morning that he is in “school.†In his defense, Ford says he’s “bored,†and that he doesn’t like the teacher, and the schoolroom “sucks,†along with the toys.nThey, apparently, “really suck.†Straight from the horse’s mouth, four going on fourteen.
And I just don’t know what to do about it. I thought this would do him a world of good. After all, I loved my Montessori years: feeding the animals, teaching myself to ride a bike, learning about different countries and fiedltripping to cotton gins and post offices. In fact, the only school years I like to reflect on are those freeform, user-paced, friendly three foot-high days. Really, my heart is in unschooling him and raising him on experience and one-on-one “lessons.†But we aren’t able to freewheel it around the globe for years at a time, immersing ourselves in the daily rhythms of various cultures, learning to make our rope hammocks in Bali, build fishing boats in New Zealand and forge our own stainless steel toenail trimmers in Germany. Who has that kind of independent wealth? If you’re in this group, don’t bother raising your hand because it’s already pressing my angry buttons.
I also don’t know whether Ford is telling me the whole truth. When I ask him,
“Ford, what did you guys do in circle time, you know, right after I dropped you off?â€
“We didn’t do anything. We just sat there and stared at the walls.†Is his immediate and nonchalant reply. And when I asked him about the red bump on his noggin, he told me he got hit with a rock, “and no teacher noticed. Nobody cared.†Yeah. And when I asked him whom he sat with at lunch, on the second day of school, he replied: “Nobody. I didn’t sit next to anybody. Nobody cared about me.†Uh, huh. He follows with this raised eyebrow, sideways-glance. It looks like this: C’mon, Mom. Buy it! I’m so convincing! And you’re soooooo gullible!
For the record, I sat in today and watched the little rugrat in circle time. Lo! He did sit and stare at the wall. Complete disinterest! And I’m beginning to see why. He’s the eldest in his class, eccentrically focused on resistors, capacitors, stratacone volcanoes and molecules. He could care less about “learning to roll a rug†(which, according to Ford, he has practiced in circle time three days in the past week) and “how to walk in a line†(today’s lesson—something I thought he’d learn if he ever entered public school).
So, I’m in a conundrum about what to do with him. I’m a neurotic, borderline schizophrenic parent who plays devils advocate with herself and her decisions. I can’t decide what’s best for Ford. I think I’m deciding for my own reasons, at this time, since those few morning hours are well-spent laughing uninterrupted with Chas, helping him learn to pour rice down a funnel and into empty cups, feeding the chickens, reading books and brushing little teeth. I like this time alone with him. But the situation is not ideal for all of us, and I’m left feeling guilty at the end of the day that I just can’t figure out what’s best for my child. After all, isn’t this really my job? I can’t seem to get the hang of parenthood; it constantly throws me curveballs.
I wonder, staring across the house while I do dishes: how do some parents exhibit such
conviction in their decisions? What makes me so neurotic? Is it all a matter of self-esteem, for my part, or is it just pigheaded perfectionism? With the huge parent market out there, it seems that keywords such as “THOSE CRITICAL FIRST YEARS†and “HOW TO BUILD YOUR BABY’S BRAIN†and “DON’T YOU WANT WHAT’S BEST FOR YOUR BABY?†have anchored in my brain, flailing wildly around the canyons of doubt, to echo, “DON’T FUCK THEM UP! IT’S ALL UP TO YOU! DON’T FUCK THEM UP!†Even though my teeny rational brain, tucked away in my frontal lobe somewhere in a fold, is meanwhile repeating the mantra in a soft whisper, “It’s not up to you, how the kids turn out. I mean, it’s your job to give them security and love, but they will evolve for themselves out of experience—it’s not what you hand them, it’s how they process what they’ve got to work with.†Or something like that. It’s hard to tell, because I can’t really hear it under all that screaming.
So…I guess the pivotal part of my job becomes clearer amid the conflict: staying sane.
Steph, google: Small Poppies highly gifted children in the early years. xxx, mom
That’s a helpful article for those who have exceptionally gifted children. I hesitate labelling Ford anything more than precocious, but this article certainly struck a chord. Thanks, Mom.
hey steph–this situation stinks, but your thoughts are real and profound. I love hearing the little voice in your head….so much I can relate to on this one.
>> After all, isn’t this really my job? I can’t seem
>> to get the hang of parenthood; it constantly
>> throws me curveballs. I wonder, staring across
>> the house while I do dishes: how do some parents
>> exhibit such conviction in their decisions?
IT’S ALL AN ACT!! What you NEED… are acting lessons.
It is the parents that DO have such staunch conviction in all of their parenting decisions that worry me.
The fact that you are asking yourself all of these questions and wracking your brain for an answer is enough. Because this IS parenting to me.
And then the best answer will come to you.
It just will.
Keep the faith, Mama, you’re right on track.
umm making hammocks in Bali– that sure SOUNDS good, but I bet it would have its downside, too
God, I feel for you— you’ve articulated your feelings and the situation with such clarity– I think it is clear that Ford is beyond what they are doing in the class right now, but the pace may pick up– or perhaps the teacher could tune into his needs and give him some special extra activities?
Well, I certainly don’t have any wisdom to share with you. I am quite glad that the schooling issue is a ways off for me. Even now I feel pressure to send her to a mom’s day out (don’t you do that even??) but I want to make our own path. I’m sorry that he isn’t happy there – he seems too young to already be so jaded. But truthfully, what “real” kid should care about sitting in circle time or walking in lines. All those things are just artifice.
I don’t have any wisdom about sanity either. My neurosis about night-time illness is reaching a fevered pitch, making me feel like I am gonna loose it. Please just know, you are not alone!
Steph, it sounds like Ford, being the brilliant observer that he IS, is capitalizing on what might be a real concern for you and then he hands it back to you as his answer. Um, that may not have made sense–allow me to illustrate:
Steph: “Who did you sit by at snack time?”
Ford: “Nobody. Nobody cares about me at all.”
Possible interpretation= “I think the only reason I’m here is because you think I might want a few friends. So, yup, nobody sits by me. Oh, and I might be here because you want to be all alone with Chas, so ok, nobody cares about me.” ???just a thought!
Preschool philosophies come in many different forms. You chose what you thought would be a good fit with your educational ideals, something that would further the curiosity that you have encouraged. Don’t give up on the school…the class as a whole needs a bit to ‘gel’ and the teachers need time to know the children. Time constraints notwithstanding, early childhood teachers should/will celebrate each child and nurture his/her talents and abilities. Give it a couple of weeks before deciding that the program is below him. I have students that don’t recognize any letters and students who can read; somehow, I will find a way for all of them to grow. But the parents of the readers may be concerned on the first dayt of class! 🙂 Chrissy
Molly, I needed that! Doesn’t it just drive you crazy!? 🙂
Thank you, Tonya. You are definitely right there. I can’t lie to save my life.
LeS, thanks for the pat on the back 🙂
Elizabeth, I was just kidding about the hammocks OMG can you imagine getting the kids to do this?! But I’d kill to go to New Zealand like T and learn boatbuilding! TERRIBLY!
Amy, are you talking about croup? It indeed sucks and you should prepare yourself, but it passes quickly. Breathe! Breathe! Even if Bea can’t! 🙂 (seriously, that was a joke)
Chrissy, that’s some helpful advice and seasoned wisdom; you’re right on, in this case. I think week 2 is making a difference already. For instance, his teacher approached me today and offered an anecdote from class, which he witnessed with pride (she was merely mentioning an interest of his, which would be circuitboards, and he picked up on her receptiveness and I could tell this pleased him–a little thing that makes a bog difference). I’m playing it by ear. He has also made a friend with whom he has already discussed volcanoes, like today, in the sandbox. Priceless!!! For only three hours a day, I feel he needs some structured time, away from me, in a home-like setting. Imposing a full day, or naps (which he hates), or paperwork–these are things we’ve since ruled out, so instead of the full day he only stays a half-day. And I’m rambling…suffice it to say, thanks for your perspective 😉
*s
I always enjoy the honesty in your writing and the line about the parenting curveballs is so true. My Annie loves her preschool and still tells me she did “nothing” and there was no circle time and I didn’t play, etc. I think they like to have that bit of life private. It may take her all day or even a few days to spill the beans on her experiences. I remember how dissapointed I was when she first started. Here she was having all these experiences and for the first time I was not privy to the info. So darned hard to let go.
Yes, it really is hard to let go. Ford has since decided that “school’s cool” (his words) so it makes my regret less tangy but still—he’s just a baby! I, too, hate missing out on everything. Man, isn’t this the tip of the iceberg!