The Ripples Come Faster Now

I only have 2 memories of the entire year of Fourth Grade.
1) visiting the capitol and eating a brown bag lunch at a nearby McDonald's
2) crying in the bathroom so hard and so long that Mrs. Willie had the
principal call my mom (who subsequently threatened me with
physical harm if she had to leave the restaurant where she waited on tables
to come to school and drag me out from underneath the stall door)

As my son headed toward these difficult in-between years of
"I'm old enough to run my own life"
versus
"Please still love me like a baby"
I knew I would have memories of my own horrible "tween" years
flood forth like increasingly rapid ripples from pebbles in the past.

I never expected a tidal wave.
After wave, after wave.

Putting him on the Big Bus for the first time, dealing with bullies,
watching him awkwardly come to terms with his budding sexuality,
it's been more horrific than I''d imagined.
And now, today, the principal (more politician than educator) called me
away from a class I was teaching to schlep up to his school, dry his tears,
and explain to the relevant staff why it was a good idea to keep him in school.

My first reaction was the impulse to tell him, "Put him on the phone"
and read him the same riot act my mother had read me in 1986.

My next reaction was to figure out what the opposite reaction would be:
straight up compassion? stern but loving boundaries?

I then shook my head, told him I'd be there as soon as I could manage
(I teach in a location 20 min. walking distance from the bus line and a
40 minute bus ride back up to our neighborhood) and that I would be
visiting the office first.

After I spent an hour advocating for my son (not apologizing, not excusing)
I snuck into his classroom where he was red-eyed and staring blankly
with an untouched reading assignment in front of him.
I bent down next to him and softly asked, "what are you doing?"
He blinked at me, seemed to wake up a bit, and smiled cautiously
before reporting,
"I had a bad morning."
I gave his shoulder a hug and said, "really? That's sad. I hope you have a better
afternoon. Remember, I love you no matter what."


I did not do what my mother did, and I did not do the opposite.
I did what I do best--love that kid with everything I've got.