BACK TO SCHOOL
BY
HELEN GIBBS POHLOT
Do you remember your first teacher? Chances are you do if that teacher was a warm and giving person who gently introduced you to education.
After many years, I still remember my first teacher, Mother Yvonne, a tall, stern but pleasant-looking nun who made you feel smarter than you actually were. It was a nice feeling for a five-year-old entering school for the first time.
Not all teachers are as gifted and patient as Mother Yvonne. When my husband and I moved from California to Bellingham, Massachusetts, our son Bruce, “BR” for short was just 26 months old. We didn’t know anyone in the area, therefore socialization with children BR’s age proved difficult.
“When in doubt, consult the experts” became my motto! I researched, read all the child-care books, and concluded that BR needed to be around other children for at least a couple hours during the week.
The search for a preschool began. Located about two miles from our house, I found what was considered the best preschool in the area. With a heavy heart and tremendous guilt for not moving into a neighborhood loaded with kids, preschool seemed the best option.
Turning the care of my only child over to someone else, even for two hours, was almost more than I could handle. But, my husband and I wanted what was best for our son. Plus, the experts in the books said he needed to be around other children.
In preparation, we talked with BR about school. He seemed quite happy and excited that he was going somewhere special. My two-year-old was going to school! My only mistake was not telling him I wasn’t allowed to go with him.
It was a bright, sunny Monday morning on BR’s first day of school. He was dressed in his new Guess jeans and red shirt. He could not have looked cuter. We packed up snacks and talked about what to expect.
We got to the school, and there were more kids that I expected. I started to think it looked more like a day care than preschool, but what did I know? There were no kids there the day I went to check it out.
BR seemed happy but reserved, maybe a bit overwhelmed by the number of children.
The children took their place in line to meet the school owner, BR’s teacher, and her aides. I accompanied BR as we made our introductions and were told where to sit.
I walked with BR over to the small chairs and told him that I had to wait on the other side of the room with the other parents.
“Mommy, don’t leave me,” BR said as tears dropped from his eyes.
“I am just going to be right over there,” I assured him.
By this time, panic was written all over my little boy’s face.
My instinct went on high alert. Should I grab him and sprint out of there or give him a chance to get used to it? On the verge of an emotional outburst myself, I decided to stick it out.
Some of the other children started to cry when the teacher said it was time for the moms to go home. I walked over to BR and said, “I am just going to wait outside for you. It will be okay.”
“No, Mommy, you can’t go,” he cried.
One of the aides got annoyed and mouthed two words I will never forget. “Shut up!” she said. Thankfully, BR was too distraught at my impending departure to hear her, but I did.
The amount of physical and emotional restraint I exercised that day qualified me for sainthood.
To say I was appalled, upset, and furious is an understatement. Without further upset to BR, I quietly went over and interrupted the owner of the school, who was engaged in conversation with another parent. I told her what happened in no uncertain terms.
Saying “shut up” to a two-year-old child on their first day of school was unacceptable, unthinkable. The owner tried to calm me down with assurances the aide would be nowhere near my son. She instructed the teacher to go over and spend time with BR.
BR was not interested. My poor little child was sitting there crying, looking lost and abandoned. I hated this school and everyone in it.
The owner came over to me and said that it may be best if I left. “Most children calm down after their parents leave,” she said.
Once again, I took the advice of a so-called expert. However, I was not about to go home as she suggested.
As the teacher, whose name I never knew comforted BR, I quietly left the room and walked down the hall to the pay phone. I really needed expert advice and fast. I called my mother. As the mother of five children, she was an expert with experience. She would know what to do.
Fortunately, she was home. I told her what happened.
“Do not leave that school,” she commanded. “Maybe BR is just not ready for school yet. He is only two and never been away from you. What did you expect?” she asked.
“Can you see into the classroom?”
“Yes, there is a window, and I can see him clearly,” I replied.
“Let him stay another hour and take him home,” Mom said. “If he is still crying at the end of the hour, it confirms that he is not ready. He is only two. What is the big rush? Wait a year and he will love school.”
I was very grateful for my mom’s words of wisdom. I went back and stood looking in the classroom window. BR was sitting with another aide who was stroking his arm in an attempt to make him feel better. My heart sank.
Just as I was about to go into the room to get him, I heard the teacher tell the children they were going outside to the playground. I thought this might make BR happy. I waited and watched.
No amount of comfort or playing would change BR’s mind. He did not want to be there.
I could not stand it. Seeing my child suffer was too much to bear. I went into the playground, picked him up, and took him home.
The next day I called the school owner and demanded my money back, noting I would never allow my child to attend a school where an aide says shut up to a two-year-old.
Shortly afterwards, I responded to an ad for a playgroup organized by a woman named Bev, the mother of two boys who lived less than a mile from our house. BR met Bev’s boys Michael and Joe along with several other kids his age. The playgroup provided many enjoyable hours of fun for both the boys and their mothers. Bev and I remain friends to this day.
BR and Michael during playgroup
In September of the following year, BR was three. I took the advice of the expert with experience. I found a lovely country day school about eight miles from our house. School ran from 8:30 to 11:30 a.m., five days a week.
First day of school!
On the first day, BR and the other children were met by Ms. Cuddy, his first real teacher. She was a wonderful woman whose warm and gentle way introduced my child to education. There were no tears from BR, only smiles. He was ready.
