On the first day of school this year, I cried so much I was dehydrated the next day. It was painful to watch our little pod of young kiddos sit in a circle, on Zoom calls in headphones on laptops, each of them taking turns to meltdown in frustration. I mourned the loss of what I envisioned for Charlotte’s first day of 1st grade. She spent the session either crying or hiding under the kitchen table. After refusing to come to the computer for a one-on-one meeting with her teacher (we will call her Mrs. S), I spent the meeting flooding our screen with tears, advocating for my child.
Charlotte isn’t defiant. She’s most definitely opinionated and sensitive—but she doesn’t push back in a way that’s disrespectful or uncalled for. Being shy and very slow to warm-up, she is uncomfortable being on camera, understandably so, since she’s interacting with a teacher and peers she’s never met in person.
So how hard do I push?
This is just one of the many, many questions swirling around the vortex that was once my brain, but now feels like a clump of forgotten fruit at the back of an unplugged fridge. These decisions we are making, feel heavy, because they are. With everything changing, the only thing that hasn’t changed in the equation, is that our children our still ours. Meaning, we know them better than anyone. From the moment they are born, the family, doctors, coaches, and teachers, become a vital part of their team. Forming a circle of care, from all corners of humanity. I’m forever grateful for my time as a special education teacher, because I learned the value of advocacy and witnessed first-hand why we say it takes village to raise a child.
After the first class Zoom meeting, I moved quickly into anger. Just like it’s in Charlotte’s nature to flee, my sympathetic nervous system triggers me to fight. I became the Mama Bear protecting her cub. This felt too hard, too scary, and overwhelming for a 6-year-old. I was already drafting a scathing letter to the district in my head and as a writer and former district employee, my voice will be heard!
Luckily, I’ve learned in sobriety to pause when agitated.
I took a breath and I decided to wait. On the exhale, Mrs. S reached out and asked if she could drive by our house and wave to us from outside; hoping to create a connection with Charlotte as best she could, given our current COVID restrictions. She arrived with a homemade sign and stood outside our front window. They chatted for a bit, Charlotte saying one-word sentences--but it was something.
And to me, it was everything.
The next morning, we received a personalized video from Mrs. S, inviting Charlotte to their morning meeting, as well as an introduction to her dog, which lit up her little face like a Christmas tree. During my toddler’s nap time that day, I did write a letter. But it wasn’t to the district, it was to our principal and Mrs. S, expressing my gratitude. Our principal praised Mrs. S’s efforts and added, Let me know if there is anything I can do to support you. If I have learned anything in these past 6 months, it’s that we need to lean on each other.
That morning Charlotte sat in front of the camera and she participated. She told the class she’s the “biggest sister” and held Josephine on her lap for the remainder of class. Mrs. S told me later, she had spoken with her husband about Charlotte, while making the sign for outside our house. When Charlotte spoke on camera, Mrs. S witnessed her husband, from across the living room, doing a happy dance.
