The Bear Down The Hallway

There is a bear at my sons’ school.  It’s a mama bear but no one is afraid of her. She keeps a watchful eye over her cubs and growls if needed.  She lives and works amongst the community and is one of them.  The bear has a name.  It is Ms. Cristina.  It’s me.

Door from which Felipe's screams would emanate from!

I am a teacher at my sons’ school.  It’s one of the many blessings of my life though our first day there was a disaster.  My youngest boy was barely 2 and it was his first time at school EVER.  As any mother out there about to send her child to school for the first time, I was nervous.  I was nervous for him and for me too.  It would be my first day as head of my own classroom.  Felipe, the youngest, must have sensed the tension around me because getting out of the house was so monumentally difficult that to make a long story short my house keys ended up down the elevator shaft and he ended up with scratches on his neck from trying to rip off the car seat.  Not the best start.

I tried to get to school early and I was able to unglue Felipe from my arms to go focus on my new job.  I left him with his loving teachers, but I could hear him screaming  as I walked down the hall.  I had done this before.  Diego, my eldest had already gone through this separation torture.  I knew it would pass.  I knew this crying would end and he would grow to love his school.  But as I walked down the hallway to my classroom, about 20 feet away I could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs “maaaammmmmiiiii”.  I could hear him screaming through the closed doors … and this was not figuratively.  I could literally hear him crying all the time until he would either pass out or someone would take him outside to find iguanas.  Outside he would forget all about me in 3 seconds flat.

Felipe's first day of school EVER

Felipe’s crying pierced my gut and my heart.  I was trying to keep it together as I welcomed 15 3-year olds to their own first day of school.  For many, it was their first day of school ever and what they got was one extraordinarily compassionate teacher.  For about two months, every time I saw Felipe’s class heading my way I had to hide so that he wouldn’t see me.  Eventually I stopped hiding until he would see me, come hug me, and then go back to his line.  This routine has lasted until today, though now he is capable of tumbling me over as he runs towards me and jumps trying to grab my neck.

On the other hand, my eldest son Diego’s class was directly across the hall from mine.  If both of our doors were open, I could catch glimpses of him sucking his thumb.  Not crying, not playing, just watching from the sidelines trying to figure things out.  It was his first day at the “big school” which is what we called it during the summer before the start of the school year.  He is not a screamer.  He is not a crier.  He is my nervously brave faced one and he was doing just that.

Diego first day at big school

That first day of school the mama bear was torn between her heart and her steadfastly responsible soul.  Eventually though, things sorted themselves out, everyone fell into a routine and we have been happily going to school, the three of us together, since.

And then it happened.  I walked outside of my classroom the other day and I saw him.  I saw Diego with his cap and gown.  They were taking their graduation portraits.  “Look mami!”, he showed me excitedly.  Both were inevitable: the tears in my eyes and his graduation from kindergarten.  To us, graduating from kindergarten means changing schools.  The school ends here.  Children move on to first grade elsewhere, and to me it seems like they are going to China.

Of course, he is not going to China.  He is going to the public school three blocks away.  He knows the place and many of his future classmates. But the mama bear in me wants to keep him close, the mama bear is growling at all the things she won’t be able to do and see anymore.  It’s as if some evil poacher has taken one of her cubs captive and is selling him to the zoo in another continent.  The mama bear cannot go with him, cannot control it, and as she rages against the terrible man she becomes desperately sad at losing her cub.  And the cub looks at her with big eyes, scared and nervous but trying to be brave.  At some point, she has to surrender.  She has to stop raging and pass on peace to her cub.  She has to convey to him, as he looks at her being carried away that he is strong, that he is capable, and that his mommy loves and will be with him forever.  I want my cub with me, but I know he has to go.  Not because an evil poacher is taking him away … my evil poacher is time.  And it’s not evil … it's necessary.  I want to do what I can to raise a strong, confident, moral, responsible and capable son that knows his mom loves him.  And that implies letting go.  Calmly.

Diego graduating from Kinder

Signs are everywhere for his need and want of independence.  While Felipe still jumps on me anytime he sees me, the older Diego says hi … sometimes.  He doesn’t like me to kiss him around school.  We made a deal that I can say “hello kindergarten” as he passes by but no kissing, no PDA. 

We went to the public school after hours one day.  We walked hand in hand around and we saw the hallway where the first grade is.  His hand was shaking inside mine.  He was nervous, unsure.  The janitor let us see one of the rooms and he began to see much of the same things he knows, pictures of children he recognizes, and by the time we left nervousness was giving way to excitement.  We go to the public school as often as we can, each time he seems more comfortable with its size.  He is shinning a light on his fear and it is going away.   And I have a feeling that when the first day of school comes around, this time, I will be the one that is crying as Diego heads down the hall.  Not because I am afraid something bad is going to happen to him, on the contrary, I think he will be great!  But because this mama bear won’t be there to witness it.