We'd gotten home about 5pm. That's about 15 to 20 minutes later than the bus will get them home on a day they ride. It only leaves about 3 hours until they're in bed. Up at 6. It's rough on little ones. So the first thing Carter does is look at me with tears in his eyes; he now wonders if he should have chosen the Horn over the Sax. "We'll figure it out. Go get some fruit juice and relax. Watch some tv."
They're watching cartoons and I go through Carter's introductary literature about his school. His tough teacher has several pages of writing about respect, student behavior, and the consequences of not turning in a homework assignment on time. Sign here; Parent and student understand only one tardy homework assighnment per month will be allowed. More will result in three recess periods spent in a homework room, making up the assignment. This is not a punishment, but improves the student's discipline and self esteem.
"We spent the whole day talking about respect, " He said. "I was writing everything down. Because I know I forget things and didnt want to get in trouble. She called on me and asked what she'd just told the class. I didn't know." He looked at me. "I had to be honest; it was true I didn't know so I was inattentive, like she said."
"So you mean because you were writing everything down to avoid getting in trouble you got in trouble?"
He looked at his shoes.
"Ok, tomorow you bring your paper to her and show her what you were doing when you weren't paying attention." He swore he would.
Right before they left today Carter told me with some peace in his voice he'd chosen the sax. Good. That was over.
First thing this morning he stopped by the class before bell and asked her if he could go inside and get some papers ready. "No," she said, "no one's allowed in class before the starting bell."
This was true school-wide.
Trav had a great first day. He had fun, lucky guy.
And it was wonderful to see them coming up the hill together from the bus. Keith ran down the hill to meet them.
This morning when his older brothers were at school, (because here kindergartner's only go on alternative days) he suddenly turned to me while we were sitting on the couch.
"Steve wouldn't play with me on the playground." He started to cry. "He wouldn't play."
Steve was a year older and had sat on his right during his birthday party a week before. Keith called him his best friend.
This is just the beginning, my son, and I'm sorry. They'll be some there and gone the next day, and many more leave for various reasons. In the end, the ones that count will be counted by you on one hand. But he'll learn. And he'll have other friends in his class, his age.
On the way home from school riding the bus, Carter tried to do his homework so he wouldn't get into trouble, but wrote so illegibly with the bouncing seat that he gave up and quit. Mrs Brawley had said handwriting she couldn't read would not be accepted. So he guessed he couldn't do his homework on the ride home. He didn't know how he could do everything planned, the work, chores at home, and band practise in only three hours. He was doomed.
"So you mean you never showed her the paper, and didnt do your homework on the bus?"
He looked at the ground. Yes dad, I read between the lines, I do everything wrong.
That gets me. It is hard in this life to make yourself understood. It seems uphill, impossible.
I called his teacher and we talked. He could use the discipline, I told her, but he's inventing barriors by not speaking frankly to you.
Tomorow she'll talk to him and I think things will seem a little better. I've known people like her before. They have a system in a chaotic universe. They have a way of doing things and it goes against the stream like a stubborn rock in whitewater, everything and everyonelse gushing by. But they've made their stand. You must conform to their view. And this can be done. Despite her strictness, I got a better opinion after talking to her. I felt this would work out afterall.
Tomorow all three will ride the bus together for the first time, third day of school. Hopefully, my M39 rifle will arrive and I can go out shooting this evening with them after they get home. Reward for attendance.
One good thing is Keith loves school. He can't wait to go back. I don't blame him one bit. I don't like staying home with me either.
Yes, this is a passage. For me too. The small one is gone now, and I've work to do now at home to keep my own life moving forward. This story has been one.
munk
They're watching cartoons and I go through Carter's introductary literature about his school. His tough teacher has several pages of writing about respect, student behavior, and the consequences of not turning in a homework assignment on time. Sign here; Parent and student understand only one tardy homework assighnment per month will be allowed. More will result in three recess periods spent in a homework room, making up the assignment. This is not a punishment, but improves the student's discipline and self esteem.
"We spent the whole day talking about respect, " He said. "I was writing everything down. Because I know I forget things and didnt want to get in trouble. She called on me and asked what she'd just told the class. I didn't know." He looked at me. "I had to be honest; it was true I didn't know so I was inattentive, like she said."
"So you mean because you were writing everything down to avoid getting in trouble you got in trouble?"
He looked at his shoes.
"Ok, tomorow you bring your paper to her and show her what you were doing when you weren't paying attention." He swore he would.
Right before they left today Carter told me with some peace in his voice he'd chosen the sax. Good. That was over.
First thing this morning he stopped by the class before bell and asked her if he could go inside and get some papers ready. "No," she said, "no one's allowed in class before the starting bell."
This was true school-wide.
Trav had a great first day. He had fun, lucky guy.
And it was wonderful to see them coming up the hill together from the bus. Keith ran down the hill to meet them.
This morning when his older brothers were at school, (because here kindergartner's only go on alternative days) he suddenly turned to me while we were sitting on the couch.
"Steve wouldn't play with me on the playground." He started to cry. "He wouldn't play."
Steve was a year older and had sat on his right during his birthday party a week before. Keith called him his best friend.
This is just the beginning, my son, and I'm sorry. They'll be some there and gone the next day, and many more leave for various reasons. In the end, the ones that count will be counted by you on one hand. But he'll learn. And he'll have other friends in his class, his age.
On the way home from school riding the bus, Carter tried to do his homework so he wouldn't get into trouble, but wrote so illegibly with the bouncing seat that he gave up and quit. Mrs Brawley had said handwriting she couldn't read would not be accepted. So he guessed he couldn't do his homework on the ride home. He didn't know how he could do everything planned, the work, chores at home, and band practise in only three hours. He was doomed.
"So you mean you never showed her the paper, and didnt do your homework on the bus?"
He looked at the ground. Yes dad, I read between the lines, I do everything wrong.
That gets me. It is hard in this life to make yourself understood. It seems uphill, impossible.
I called his teacher and we talked. He could use the discipline, I told her, but he's inventing barriors by not speaking frankly to you.
Tomorow she'll talk to him and I think things will seem a little better. I've known people like her before. They have a system in a chaotic universe. They have a way of doing things and it goes against the stream like a stubborn rock in whitewater, everything and everyonelse gushing by. But they've made their stand. You must conform to their view. And this can be done. Despite her strictness, I got a better opinion after talking to her. I felt this would work out afterall.
Tomorow all three will ride the bus together for the first time, third day of school. Hopefully, my M39 rifle will arrive and I can go out shooting this evening with them after they get home. Reward for attendance.
One good thing is Keith loves school. He can't wait to go back. I don't blame him one bit. I don't like staying home with me either.
Yes, this is a passage. For me too. The small one is gone now, and I've work to do now at home to keep my own life moving forward. This story has been one.
munk
However, I've seen what they are piling on kids these days. It's stuff I was struggling with in the 4th grade that they're breezing by in the 2nd. Kindergarteners are reading stuff that I couldn't tackle until I was 7. Hell, I remember the required reading for a 5 year old back in 1986. Two cartoon turtles sitting at the bank of a pond. "Go, go." "I will not go." "Go, go, go." "I will go."...that's it. The pressures we put on kids these days is amazing. I was a supposedly gifted child, but this stuff today...wow, makes me glad I finally get to be an old dummy
