He didn’t want to go to school from the beginning. Even when I told him, back in January, that I had been offered the job– a month before I even signed the contract– he cried.
Everett wanted Nothing To Do with going to school.
It wasn’t so much the school thing, in and of itself. He didn’t know what we were talking about, in a way. He’d been homeschooled all his life. The closest thing he’d ever come to it was Vacation Bible School, for one week at a time, in our church, every summer. And Sunday school, yes, but that’s only for an hour once a week. And he always had a hard time getting used to that, too.
He has always, in fact, had a hard time with separation from me into the Unknown. And that sounds normal– indeed, it Is normal– but to varying degrees. For William, the unknown has always been known enough to Not induce terror or tears. For Emma Grace it has always been full steam ahead. For Everett it has always been a little, well, scary.
When he was four, I often would dress him for Sunday school in the sweetest navy velour shirt. “Oh Everett,” I would say as I pulled it over his head, “Miss Libby will love you in this cozy shirt. She will have a hard time teaching her class today; she will just want to cuddle you and cuddle you because your shirt is So Cozy.”
That helped. Everett often did a little better in Sunday school when he had his cozy shirt on.
He always, in fact, did fine in Sunday school. It just took a little adjustment. Every Week. He had a good time. He participated in the lesson, the song, the (sometimes) craft. But he Always had a problem with that Moment of Separation, that time when I or Bill would say to him, “Okay, Buddy. You go ahead. Have a good time.” And then we had to walk away.
Yes, the cozy thing definitely helped. There was a season during which I let him carry a smidgin of his cozy ba in his pocket. Just having a shred of this blanket made All The Difference for this boy, who could reach in his pocket and find its familiar presence there. Yes, it helped.
But when, at seven-and-a-half, it was time to start school, he had long since outgrown the cozy velour shirt. And while his day started at 8:30, I began teaching at 8:15 and had to be in my classroom by 8. There could be no lingering leave-taking, no Comforting Presence of the Mother to transition the child to the capable hands of his teacher.
He tried to be strong. He Really Did. There were no options, and he knew it. There was no chance that, this day, or any particular day, I would put him back in the car and take him home. We were in school, and That was That.
There were mornings with tears. There were mornings with hugs around my middle that lasted Too Long. There were mornings (too many) that I had to steel myself and walk away from my weeping child. There were mornings that I was crying myself.
I do not know how we would have made it had it not been for those at the school who Understood. Everett’s teacher Understood. And Everett’s teacher’s assistant Understood. And the secretaries in the office, and the director of curriculum and instruction, and the director of the lower grades– they all Understood. And one of the secretary’s sons, Pate, who is a year younger than Everett, put his arm around Everett Every Morning and let him play with his Legos.
I had to do a lot of thinking and listening over those weeks. I came to understand that one of Everett’s concerns was the very real fear that, in the midst of All Those Children and All Those Teachers in a place that was, at the time, New and Big, he might not be able to find me at the end of the day. And so I printed out a copy of his schedule and hung it in my classroom and every day, before I left him, we discussed where he would be at the end of the day and where I would meet him so that he could be certain we would find each other again.
And we always did.
And I told him how brave he was. Yes, how really he was So Much More Brave than the other children. Because in order to be brave and face one’s fears, one has first to Be Afraid, and so these others who had no fears about school had, really, no need to be brave. They really had no bravery to speak of.
Everett was Very, Very Brave.
And then one day at the beginning of October, something changed. Suddenly he was able to do it. He was able to wait in the gym with the other early arrivals, and not be intimidated by the noise, and have a Good Time. He was able to walk to his own classroom with confidence, and to play easily with his classmates and even, now and then, to Misbehave. And now, when I’m late to meet him at the end of the day, he comes to find me, and he is Not Scared At All.
Recently he stood beside me at my desk when I opened a seldom-used drawer. And we both saw it at the same time: the bit of cozy ba enclosed in a plastic baggie– a little measure of comfort that I brought to the school– just in case– a long time ago. He doesn’t need it now. It made us both smile.
Yes, Everett is doing Really Well in school these days. And although he’s glad for his vacation right now, he will not be sorry to go back in January. It wasn’t long ago that he said to me, “Mom, you know what’s wrong with Fridays?”
“What?” I said.
“There’s no school the next day,” he said.
How ’bout that?
