Last Day of School

I've been feeling so blue lately. I'm not exactly sure why, but just a strong shade of blue. Some personal things have been going on (which I'm sure will pop up in some future post) within my family, a dreaded trip back to PA, plus other unpleasant occurrences ... I don't mean to be so cryptic, but just general stuff that makes me walk through my day with the constant sensation of feeling the tears behind my eyelids, not quite brimming over but ready to spill at the drop of a hat.

Today is Aidan's last day of preschool, and what started out the year with great promise and anticipation has now ended on a really bittersweet note. I spoke with his teacher for a few minutes after class yesterday afternoon, just to sort of recap his four months there, and I was a little disheartened at what she had to say. It wasn't anything bad -- it was just, well, sad for me to hear of some little changes in my little guy. When he started school in September, he was the oldest in the class and enjoyed the role immensely. He jumped in with both feet, not a fear in the world, oozing confidence from every pore. Within the first week or two he knew every child's name and something about them. He jumped at every chance to help the teacher, and he even helped the other students whenever he could. He was the happiest I think I had ever seen him. I was so incredibly proud of him.

Aidan was devastated to leave that school in January, and for a time he thought that he had done something to cause such an abrupt dismissal. He grieved that tremendous loss -- his teachers, his new friends, his role in his class. Thankfully he didn't give me a hard time about joining this new school, and he went three days a week with some quiet anticipation. He never said anything bad about the school or his classmates, and he told me he loved his teacher, so I assumed everything was going as it had before.

I was wrong. It's not that it was so bad -- it wasn't. It was just very, very different. Aidan was now the youngest in his class, and having started mid-year, the cliques had already formed, and the other kids were not willing to let him in. It broke my heart yesterday to hear his teacher say he was trying so desperately hard to fit in, but the doors remained closed to him. She said finally, about 3 or 4 weeks ago, the other kids just started to let him in and he was finally starting to connect with them. Three or four weeks ago ... that meant that for three months he was alone, with no friends. Those tears were threatening to spill big time.

It was a multi-faceted problem, beginning with the fact that he was the youngest. There were kids in that class who were a full year or more older than he was, so for example, when Aidan came to class in a new shirt that he thought was really cool, the other kids blew him off, because "cool" to them isn't a stupid shirt, it's building a robot. I'm not sure if Aidan understood this or not; all he felt was hurt when Zachary told him he wasn't cool. He's only four years old.

I also feel that part of his issue with "not fitting in" was fear on his part. I think he learned way too early that trust can be broken. I wonder if a part of him was incredibly hesitant to get close, because he knows from experience what it feels like to be ripped away from people you love. Better to put up your guard than get hurt again.

The teacher also said two things that really surprised me. First, she said he was having some trouble mixing up his lower case letters, like "b" and "d," for example. I know that during the fall, he was writing his letters -- both cases -- perfectly, with no mix-ups at all. And now this? Why would he be going backwards? Maybe that's normal -- what do I know. She also said that very often he would be in his own little world, looking around instead of listening, kind of day dreaming. Now that is pretty unusual for him. The example she gave: he was sitting in a chair and she asked him to get a rock. He wouldn't move, but instead just started looking around the room. After a time she said, "Aidan, what are you supposed to be doing?" Clearly he heard her, for he answered, "I'm supposed to be getting a rock." When she asked why he didn't wasn't doing it, he responded, "I don't know" but then finally got up and fetched the rock. He wasn't being obnoxious or disrespectful, just not ... I don't know, present. I have no idea what this is -- I haven't seen him do this at home, and I certainly never heard of him doing this back in the fall.

Am I reading too much into this? Maybe. The teacher was very confident that he'll do well in TK (Transitional Kindergarten) in September. All the kids will be the same age (August-October birthdays), and everyone will start with a clean slate, with cliques yet to be formed. I pray that his confidence will be restored, that he won't be scarred from what he's experienced and what he can't understand. Sometimes loving someone so much can hurt more than you could ever imagine.