As I was sitting at my desk tonight and thinking of all my worries for my kindergartners, I could not help but remember when Vanessa and David started kindergarten. I had so many worries. However, on that day, a misunderstanding lessened my worries. I found this story that I had written about their first day. I thought that you might enjoy reading it too.
In May of 2009, I was dreading what was ahead for
David and Vanessa. I knew my own early experiences
in school and I was worried.
For the past year, I had stayed at home with the
kids after their adoptions. We had worked on pre-school skills, life skills
and English skills to get them ready for kindergarten. However, that year flew by quickly and it was soon going to be time to go to traditional school in August.
I was very reluctant, but I knew this
was a step that they needed to take.
Kindergarten would be a big step with
all new adventures, new skills, new friends and new discoveries. However, it was the new discoveries that
worried me and to be honest, even scared me.
I can remember my first year of school, and while it was not a bad year,
I learned some tough lessons that year. Lessons
that I still sometimes wish were not
true. I cringed at the thought of David
and Vanessa learning similar truths about their world.
In the 1970’s, I lived an ideal life with my parents
on a small farm. My grandparents lived
beside us and our community and church were small. Due to my being born with a disability, I had
been to see the “Big City” many times and frequently spent weeks at the
Children’s Hospital with kids from all over the world. School would prove to be an intrusion into my
ideal life. From my very first day at
school, I started to learn tough lessons.
No one looked like me. No one was taught like me, and ultimately I learned
that not everyone wanted me in their school.
Unlike the hospital, with kids with all types of disabilities and unlike
my home, with my father who was a disabled veteran and our neighbor with a
wooden leg, at school I was the only one with an obvious disability and at
first I was a curiosity. Eventually, my
classmates became bored with being entertained by my every move and they mostly
accepted me as a playmate. Recess became
the best part of my day because I mixed freely with my new friends. In the classroom, I sat in the back at a
table and colored. I could catch
bits and pieces of what the others were learning and I was occasionally given a
book like theirs to look at while they did their lesson. I learned the words
for kids like me. I disliked the word
“retard” the most. Some teachers didn’t
think I could be taught and I learned that some did not want to waste time with
me. Even the principal doubted aloud in my presence if
I belonged in their school.
My early experiences were the solid foundation of
my fears for David and Vanessa. Haitian
by birth and now living in rural America, they enjoyed a small community of
family and friends. They had already
made many discoveries, just coming to join our family. Starting in the airport and continuing at
church, they found out that few black people spoke Creole, even the darkest
skinned people spoke English. To add
confusion, a white woman with light hair spoke Creole to them because she had
lived in Haiti. David knew that he
looked different than me. As he colored
pictures of moms and kids, moms were orange and kids were brown. However, what concerned me the most is that
like me, neither David nor Vanessa knew that their community was not like their
home and church.
To try to ease the transition to go school, I made
arrangements for David and Vanessa to go to pre-kindergarten, two Vacation
Bible Schools and a day camp. When the first day of Summer school arrived, David and Vanessa were so excited to get to go play with lots
of kids. I drove the kids to school that morning, and I got Vanessa to her class first.
Due to her disabilities, she had already met her teacher and toured as
part of the process of getting the school ready for her so she separated from
me quickly and was ready to start her day with the help of a classroom aid. David and I went more slowly to his
classroom, pointing out where the cafeteria and restrooms were located and
finally stopping to take a picture of him outside the classroom.
We entered the room and we were greeted by an
experienced and prepared teacher who had activities already going at the
tables. I took David to the seat for him,
and he immediately dove into playing with the building blocks at his table. I lingered and took a couple more pictures as
he started to talk to the boy next to him.
I was pleased to see that the boy was a minority, and based on a brief
exchange with his mom as she left, I knew they were from Guatemala. I was pleased that David would not be the
only minority student! David had told me
bye, and I was across the room when I heard the little boy
ask in a suspicious tone, “Who was that?”
I stepped behind a cabinet out of view. David said, “My mom.” The boy said, “That’s not your mom. She’s white.”
I sucked in my breath and waited to hear David’s response. David said insistently, ”She is my mom.” The boy said, “Not your real mom.” I was about to step back around the cabinet, when the teacher interrupted the boys with a new activity.
That afternoon I went to get David from school. The little boy and David saw me waiting in
the hall. I could hear enough to know
that they had resumed their previous conversation. I stepped closer to the door as the boy was asking
David questions again. David replied, “There are
white moms too”. Then the
little boy asked, “How do you get to school?”
David seemed annoyed as he answered, “I told you; in a car.” The boy inquired, “But who drove the car?” David seeming
more annoyed, ”My mom!” The boy confused, “Your real mom?” David pointing to
me in the hall, “Yes.” The boy then said, “She can't drive.”
David who was looking completely annoyed now; responded, “White moms can drive
too!” As luck would have it, the bell
rang and David came running to me. I figured I’d explain the little
boy’s concern about my disability and driving later.
On the way home, David told me all about his day
including about the boy who kept asking him about his mom all day. David explained,” He has a brown mom. He doesn’t know about white moms.”
He exclaimed, “He didn’t even know that white moms can drive!”
I decided that David understood the little boy just
fine so I never explained the boy’s concerns.
However, that afternoon I felt more confident that David and I would do
just fine handling the tough realities of kindergarten…one misunderstanding at
a time.