Raw Drip

From the moment we started receiving negative feedback on Adam from Preschool X, we’ve gone through something akin to a grieving process. Initially there was the Denial stage. We simply could not believe that the child they described to us was our son. Then we moved into the Anger stage and found ourselves commiserating over seemingly endless sessions of, “I don’t get it. Why are they picking on our kid?”. Eventually, we found ourselves Bargaining with the Administration – “If you’ll let him try another classroom, we’ll send him to a child psychologist for an evaluation…”. Then we moved into a Depression, where we both felt hopelessly lost and confused by our situation, “Where had we gone wrong?” we wondered. And now, I’d say we’re squarely in the Acceptance stage. Dick and I know that Preschool X is dead to us…and after my latest conversation with the Administration Fembots, they know it, too.

Last Friday Dick dropped off the children so he could enjoy the Preschool’s annual “Doughnuts with Dad” day in honor of Fathers’ Day. As Dick was munching on doughnuts in a tiny chair in Adam’s room, it occured to him that he’d forgotten to bring Adam’s swim gear for water play. On his way out the door around 9, he called me as I was on my way out the door at home. I grabbed Adam’s gear and arrived at school around 9:15 to drop off it off. Walking into the Director’s office, I found my son sitting sitting in the chair next to her desk. Here’s roughly the conversation that ensued:

Fembot:I was just about to call you. Can we talk? Adam’s had a rough morning.

Me: Certainly. But how rough could his morning be? His father just left here 15 minutes ago and he told me that Adam was reading a book by himself in the corner. I mean, in the past 15 minutes what could he have possibly done that would merit his removal from the classroom?

Fembot: When I walked in to check on the class, it was utter chaos. Unfortunately, all of the chaos was centered on Adam.

Me:What was he doing?

Fembot: He was being disuptive…

Me: Well, explain to me – disruptive…

Fembot: Well, the teacher was saying that he was just at the center of a group of loud, excitable children, and…

Me (interrupting): There are so many things wrong with what you just said. First of all, THE teacher? Is that class at capacity, because if it is, that’s 26 students and only one teacher which is not only out of state guidelines, but also a heckuva burden for one person. If I were alone with 26 children I’d be surrounded by chaos, too! Secondly, IF that teacher was by herself with 26 kids, how could she single out my son as the source of all the chaos? Finally, is it not normal for 4 & 5 year olds to get excitable on a day that involves eating sugared doughnuts with their dads followed by water play? I get pretty excited about those things and I’m a grown-up!

Fembot:Well I can assure you that we were doing our best to react to the situation with the teacher in the room. The second teacher’s car broke down so she was running a little late. I was keeping a very close eye on that room, myself.

Me:I doubt the state guidelines make exceptions for tardiness. My understanding is that it’s YOUR job as the Director to make sure another body is physically in that room at all times or you’re out of compliance.

Fembot:Well, regardless I just don’t think that Adam’s well suited to our environment here and he is a disruptive influence in the classroom…

Me (interrupting): Oh, we all agree that he’s not well-suited to your environment. That’s why the 20th will be his last day here. So, let’s cut the crap, shall we? If there is no blood, death or dismemberment involved, I expect that you will not call me to come pick him up over every little vague incident or basic displinary task for which I am paying you to handle. Instead, you will take that opportunity to coach the teacher on how to better handle the situation because it’s a lot easier to show her how to adapt her approach than it is try to brainwash a 4 year old.

Fembot: I think you’re misunderstanding, here. We care deeply about Adam. He’s a wonderful, bright, charming little boy, but he’s just not a good fit for this environment. You see, we’re very structured here…

Me (interrupting again): You mean inflexible. And thank god he’s not a good fit! I consider it a positive reflection on my parenting skills that he’s not just another compliant kid who lacks spirit. He’s a thinker and I assumed our partnership was designed to support thinking and problem-solving. I see now that we were wrong about your priorities as educators. And, please, spare me the whole, “We care…” routine? For the next 5 days, all I ask of you is that you continue to pretend to care about my child and I’ll continue to pretend that I don’t notice that you don’t, okay? No more phone calls and notes unless it’s serious (blood, death, dismemberment). If he’s disruptive, deal with it. If he hits a friend on the playground, deal with it. If he sets the school on fire, then call me. Do you get the distinction?

Fembot (sighing): I understand where you’re coming from.

Me: Fine. I’ll walk him back to class, then.

As I kissed my son goodbye outside his room, I found my eyes tearing up. I wasn’t upset because of the unpleasantness of the conversation I had to have with the Director. I was absolutely torn in a way I’d never felt before. I was fighting every instinct in my body which screamed out to me to scoop him up and protect him from these heartless people.

Now, I’m a pretty level-headed person so I don’t really think that Preschool X administration are a completely heartless bunch – that’s just how I feel. But I do believe that their goal is to operate a profitable business and providing childcare is merely a means to an end.

Arriving at the Acceptance stage was a long and difficult road, but at least it’s all out in the open now. In fact it’s so out in the open that my morning drop off consists of averted glances and a noticeably pleasant lack of pleasantries from the administration. No more fake enthusiasm from these people – they know we’ve seen right through them.

As I close this chapter in what I’m sure is going to be a life-long book of child-rearing drama, a great and dramatic parting line from one of my all time favorite films, “All About Eve”, occurs to me. In the movie, Margo Channing tells phony, fang-bearing ingénue Eve to put her award where her heart ought to be. In my version it goes something like this…

“Preschool X, I wouldn’t worry. You can always put all your profits, your structure and your rules where your hearts ought to be.”

I love happy, bitchy endings, don’t you?