A Kick in the Mommy Gut

I'm a shrew ...

Every school has their own method of discipline, of teaching children how to listen and obey and follow direction. Aidan's teacher employs a a particular method involving colored sticks, and the taking away of said sticks when a child doesn't listen, or obey, or follow direction appropriately. One stick taken away is a warning ... but if you lose all three sticks, you face a consequence, such as staying in from the playground at recess.

But to counter this measure, there is also a system of reward, for if you keep all of your sticks you get a stamp on your hand. How kids love those stamps ... and how indeed my son thrives on that mark on his little hand. It's the first thing he shows me when he gets off the bus, smiling wide.

Every once in the proverbial blue moon Aidan gets a stick taken away -- he gets too involved being silly with his table-mate that he doesn't pay attention to the teacher; he talks to a friend when he should be quiet; etc. It's very rare, but it does happen. He's only six, after all.

Today when he came off the bus he looked a little dejected. The first thing he said to me, as he held out his clean, stamp-less hands for my viewing, was: "Mommy, I think you're going to be very disappointed."

I asked him what happened and he said, "See? I didn't get a stamp."

"Well, that's OK," I said, "but tell me what happened."

He looked upset. He said that his teacher called his name but he couldn't hear her over the voices of the other kids. He didn't get a stick taken away, but he also didn't get a stamp. He felt really bad, he said; he just couldn't hear her.

"Well," I said, "that's all right. It really wasn't your fault. Did you tell the teacher that you couldn't hear her?"

And here's what he said:

"No, I didn't tell her that. But I did tell her that I was really nervous."

"Why?" I asked.

"I told her that I was nervous because my Mommy was going to be really mad at me."

OH!

Boy, I felt rotten. I got down on his level. His eyes were actually wet with unshed tears. I asked him if that was what he really thought, that I get mad when he doesn't get a stamp. I quickly searched my memory bank, wondering if in some low, fallen moment I might have yelled or said something harsh or made him feel like failure of some sort, not "good enough." I couldn't think of a single moment (at least not for such a petty misdemeanor). The poor kid!

I told him that I never get mad about that, but that if he does lose a stick I want to talk to him about it and to encourage him to try to listen, or pay attention, or whatever the issue du jour had been. And those "conversations" usually last about 5 seconds because he knows what he did. But under no circumstances am I angry for any of this.

I looked into his big brown eyes. His little lip quivered and he suddenly threw his arms around me. He had been nervous. About me.

What a kick ...
What a lesson.