Myron and I the week before he started school, attending his first movie in a theatre: Wall-E. Photo by Julie Shulgan.
So last week my sister-in-law, Jody, and her business partner, Liz, opened a new montessori in downtown Toronto called Westside School. Myron started going last week—three hours every morning, from 8:30 to 11:30 a.m. It's my job to take him because the whole point of Myron going to montessori is to give Natalie some time with only one kid, so she can have some fun doing things for herself, like showering and eating meals.
My sister-in-law warned me it might be traumatic at first, this business of leaving Myron at school. The first day went OK. Both his cousins also are at the montessori so he was happy to get a chance to play with them. And then the next day was a disaster. Oooh, it was bad. Tuesday morning, I led him into the little fenced play area where everyone gathers before school actually starts. I knelt down. I said, "OK, daddy's going to go now, mom'll be here before lunch to pick you up."
Look, I know new parents have been writing about the trauma of the daycare drop-off for years but shit it's poison to leave your kid making noises like an 18th century amputation victim, mid-surgery. What he was producing wasn't a scream or even a wail. It was a keening. A lament. It was the sound of a two-year-old in deep and profound mourning. Driving home all I could think about was the glimpse of his crumpled face through the fence slats as he watched me abandon him.
Natalie could tell something was wrong when I returned. Just at that moment the phone rang. It was my sister-in-law, Jody. "He's fine," she said. "He cried for maybe two minutes and now he's playing with the other kids." I was so relieved I, well, shoot, you know, I guess I teared up for a second. Natalie caught it. She hugged me. It didn't help. I went off to get some writing done with anxiety all through my abdomen. And the next day, the Wednesday, the routine was pretty much the same: Kid balls, dad feels terrible. "Do you want me to take him, tomorrow?" Natalie asked once I returned to the house, once she saw what a wreck I was. "Naw, it's fine, don't worry, I'll get over it," I said. Natalie taking him would obscure the whole point of this Myron-going-to-school thing. And if you're a kid under the impression that one of your parents is abandoning you, probably it's slightly less traumatic (for the kid) if it's the dad doing the abandoning.
That night we had a family meeting about this school thing. Natalie and I prepared for it. "We just have to tell him why he's going to school," Natalie whispered to me while Myron was in the other room. "Why is that, exactly?" I whispered back. "Because he needs to be around other kids," she said. "We did it, it was good for us, it's good for him." Five minutes later I was sitting on the coffee table explaining to my two-year-old about the benefits of socialization. He seemed to get it.
And then the next morning it was the same thing. Maybe worse. And again the next day. Getting to Saturday morning felt like an accomplishment. I gave him lots of hugs. We went to a birthday party and walked down to Clafouti for croissants and enjoyed extra-long sessions of track construction with his Thomas the Train set.
Monday morning came too soon. My sister-in-law warned me that Monday's parting could be the worst of them, after all the familial togetherness over the weekend. But Myron was brave. I got him out of his car seat. There's a pocket at the bottom where he's supposed to put his soother when he leaves the car. He went to put the soother into the pocket, then paused. The soother was stopped in the air exactly halfway between car pocket and Myron's mouth.
"Myron," I said. "We can do this. You can do this. You're a brave boy."
He studied my face. He studied his soother. The soother went into the pocket. At the gate Myron gave me a hug. He hung on maybe a moment too long. Then I turned and speedwalked toward the car. Jody's post-leaving report was a little different, this time: This time, he didn't even cry.
Which brings us to this morning. Which went a little differently. It's been a continuum, pretty much, right? He was bad at first. He's been getting better. And yet this morning was like a whole other level. As I led him to the car for the morning trip to school, he said the names of his cousins: "Cameron. Allie." He knew where we were going! And: He was looking forward to it! Getting him out of the car seat was a breeze. He put the soother in the pocket, no problem. At the gate, Jody's business partner, Liz, met Myron with the usual handshake. I knelt down. I kissed the top of Myron's head. "Mom'll pick you up at lunch," I said. And he ran off. He didn't even say, "bye." He just went off with Allie to play on one of the spring teeter-totter toys the montessori school has in the playground.
"Bye Myron," I called to his back.
Dammit, I thought, as I trudged back to the car. I miss the tears.
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Posted by: SLAVIC CHRISTIAN SOCIETY | November 07, 2008 at 11:35 AM