Sunday, June 5, 2016

Behind childhood expectations...


Friday had a thick overcast above our heads. The air was muggy, but cool, and the clouds were a fierce gray with rain occasionally sprinkling down when they became too full. 

My daughter and I stepped out of our car as we walked hand in hand towards her school's doors. She chatted in my ear about the weather, nonstop, as we stepped onto the sidewalk to join the other parents waiting by the door. 

Today, was the day she had been waiting for all year, field day. 

A day to play games. This was right up her alley.

My daughter didn't hesitate walking in that day. Usually, she draws out the goodbye process, turning it into a repetitious act that requires more hugs, kisses, and secret hand shakes than humanly possible. But field day was different. She knew I was going to be on the grounds and she felt more at ease walking away from me.

I was there volunteering to aid assistance with her field day. I stood among a sea of fellow parents who were all eager to start the festivities. We were quickly separated into our groups, while the children all stayed in their classrooms, and we filed out of the gym and onto the outside grounds to set up our stations. I was very lucky to be partnered up with my friend who I adore spending time with and we met another great fellow mama, who was very sweet too. Our station was one of the better ones, not just because I was biased, but it was a general consensus among the children. It was called Drip Drip Drop. Just like Duck Duck Goose, but with water. It's literally played how it sounds. You sit in a circle and drip a drop on one persons head, walk some more, drip another drop, walk some more, then drop the whole cup onto someone else. Then run around the outside circle to get back into their spot before getting tagged. The kids loved it. 

The field day was set up with grades K-5, with a few children from each grade on a team. So every team contained a child from every grade. It wasn't focused on competition and winning, but teamwork instead. You couldn't get a point for your team unless you won as a team. I loved the idea and the concept.

After the horn blew and the first round of children entered our station, I quickly scanned the open field to search for my daughter. Thankfully, each grade was designated a certain color tee shirt so it helped narrow down the process. I scanned and scanned with no avail, until about ten minutes later. And I swear her and I have some sort of soul connection because I happened to look up to my right and I finally spotted her. But when I did, she was crying and a teacher was already consoling her. I told my group I would be back and I had to tend to my daughter. I ran across the open field like I was running from a burning building. Mid way, she saw me and released herself from the teacher and ran towards me. I scooped her up, kissed and hugged her, and walked over to the teacher. She explained she tried to comfort her, but there wasn't much else she could do. I asked if my daughter asked for me and she replied yes, but she wasn't going to take her and search for me. I huffed and walked away from the crowd with my daughter still in my arms and softly spoke to her, consoling her myself. I knew she was upset because she became overwhelmed with the crowd of unfamiliar people. And, she knew I was supposed to be there, but among the 600 children and over 20+ volunteers, it was like finding a needle in a haystack for a 5 year old. So, I showed her where I was standing and explained that I will be staying at that station the entire day and the children will rotate through each station. Once she understood the process and knew I would be in one spot the entire time for whenever she wanted to glance over to me and wave, which she did countless times, and she looked relieved.       

She quickly calmed herself down so she could return to her group and I stayed for her first turn to watch her throw a football through a ring, which she did, three times. She said she felt much better and was able to return to her friends. I obliged and told her how much I loved her and I would keep and eye out for her the whole time. I walked back to my station and continued my day...

When a floater parent occasionally stopped by my station, I would take that opportunity to sneak away and go watch my daughter play in some games (and to double check that she was fine). Each time I showed up, she was playing with friends and enjoying the games. She was happy and waved frantically at me. Once I was confident she was secure, I'd go back to my station.

Towards the last 15 minutes or so of the day, PTO coordinators were walking by to explain how we were going to end; what to do, and where to go. Then one coordinator stopped before me and asked if I was the mom to the little girl who was crying earlier. I answered yes. She was quick to offer up some judgmental comment about how they can't cater to children in school age. She also stated how her children are living all over the country and that children need to be mature enough to leave home (In my head I'm thinking, calm down lady, she's only 5 years old. But I knew what she was getting at. It's the same judgment that attachment parents frequently receive about something we're doing). I held my tongue to the best of my ability, but quickly rebutted along the lines, "Yeah, I get that, but she's only in kindergarten. And she's a young kindergartener (She has a late August birthday). Intellectually, she's placing higher, but emotionally, she's just different. But she'll catch up, on her own time. You wouldn't become frustrated or say you won't cater to a child if they struggled intellectually or even if they weren't growing physically like all their classmates. No, you wouldn't. You would figure out how to work with them and how to make the environment better suited for their needs. Because growing physically and learning comes to different people at different times. So then, why must it be different for a child who isn't where all her classmates are emotionally?"

Needless to say, she didn't have a response and just said, "to each their own" and walked away.

There's not much I honestly say I hate, but I hate that kind of response. I hate that people expect all children to fit into a one size fits all box to make their job/life easier. But, it's not that simple. Everyone is their own person, at least that's what I'm teaching my children -not to be like everyone else. If my daughter needed me to be with her the entire day so she could enjoy field day, you bet your ass I would have left my station and done so. 

I know my children are different from other children. And, I love that my daughter isn't where all the other children are emotionally. It makes her, her. But I'd say, it's because she's home all day with me. She's in the same home all the time. She isn't passed around between parents or day cares or grandparents. At home, she isn't told to go play in another room by herself. I play with her/them. I engage daily with them. We do things together, all the time. So right now, she isn't used to all types of change. That doesn't make her immature, it makes her unexposed. And exposure to school and their routines will help her develop and grow and become familiar with change. Isn't that what school is for? Developing and growing on all levels.  

Each year, she'll get better and better at it. She already surpassed my expectations this year, as opposed to last year. And next year, I'm sure she'll do even better. But, I will continue to walk my daughter to the front doors of that school every day and give her the biggest hug and kiss, and do our secret handshake, until the day she becomes too embarrassed for me to step out of the car. Because contrary to popular belief, that day will come. That day will come too soon. That day when she's hopping in the car with her friends and driving herself to school. Nonchalantly giving me a quick kiss goodbye, while trying to avoid a hug. 

I'll never understand the logic in forcing children to behave like adults at such a young age. My daughter is only 5 years old. In the grand scheme of life, she's still an infant. I still hold her, carry her, and sometimes rock her to sleep at night. She's only this young once. She's only a child once, but an adult for the rest of her life. Then once she crosses that threshold into adulthood, childhood is over. Then comes life, with vast responsibilities, and accepting responsibilities for your own actions. So why must we rush that? I sure as hell don't want to.

I want my children to enjoy every part of each stage in their life. I want them to savor it, take their time, and move on when they're ready. I want them to always feel secure, no matter who they're with or where they are. I want them to always be soft, sensitive, and be their own person, whoever that person will become.     

And if it takes them a little longer to get there...

...Then so be it...

The world isn't going anywhere any time soon.

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