Ferrin Family: September 2008

It seems impossible that five years could have gone by as quickly as they have. I can't express how grateful I am to have the privilege of raising my Lincoln. He is such an amazing kid! He's always had an incredible stubborn determination to do things his own way, annoying as a baby, but serving him well as he grows. I swear he can do and accomplish anything he sets his mind to, because he will keep at it until he does. He loves so strongly, and isn't afraid to let people know. Sometimes I feel badly for first born's, it really seems like as a parent I'm still ironing out all my defects on him, and they are at times many. But I love him so, and I know that he knows that, so I hope I won't mess him up too badly. He definitely came to me as his own little person, right from the start, and I hope I can help him to become everything that his Father in Heaven needs him to be. I'm so grateful for him, and the joy he brings to our family. We love you Lincoln, Happy Birthday!

I can't believe that the time has come for Lincoln to start school. I know it's only preschool, a couple of days a week, but man time passes quickly. We opted not to send him to kindergarten this year, we thought he needed some more time. He's totally ready as far as all his reading, and writing, school stuff I guess. Emotionally, not so much. He's just a sensitive soul, a real tender heart. We thought being a little older in his class might help him a bit. He's finally started getting excited though, an I'm so relieved. For a while whenever I would mention school, he'd say, "Could you please not talk about that anymore, it makes me worried!" I would laugh, but he was completely serious, and very stressed about the prospects of leaving home, even for a few hours. He's definitely settling into the idea now though, and I think he'll really have fun. He's growing up so fast, I can't believe it, I'm going to try and really cherish this last year having him home. (I wrote this about a month ago and never finished the post)

He had his first official day at preschool yesterday, and he had so much fun. He cried for a few minutes in the morning when he finally realized why I was rushing him around to get everything done. I was glad he had forgotten about it, because I knew the sooner he realized where we were going the longer he would have to stress about it. He shed a few initial tears, but I tried to give him a pep talk of sorts, and although it wasn't immediate after a while he calmed down and seemed O.K. By the time we got to school all was forgotten, like Josh said,

"the idea of the event was much worse than the actual event". He even told me right after we walked in, when many other kids around us were a mess, that he was fine and I could leave. So I did. I sat in the parking lot for a bit stressing about the chaos of the classroom, and thinking if I were a kidnapper it would be a perfect opportunity amidst all that first day drama, (and we wonder where Lincoln gets it). It's just hard leaving him for the first time, he's been all mine for the past almost 5 years, and now all of a sudden he's not anymore. I have to share him, I guess I was a little less ready than he was. They handed out these papers at the end of the day, one of which was entitled " The Transfer of Trust". It really expressed so perfectly all of the thoughts I'd been feeling and I just wanted to share it on my blog. Get a box of tissues ready though, it's a real tear jerker!

The Transfer of a Trust by Susan Wojciechowski

The realization has finally hit me - my child is starting kindergarten. The syndrome hits me every year just when school is starting. It's always the same. At 7am, the school bus whizzes to a stop at the end of my driveway. My child waves an uncertain goodbye and climbs aboard. The door whooshes shut and the bus rumbles slowly out of sight.

I go back on the porch for another cup of tea, a peaceful cup at last. I spread the paper open in front of me and I start to cry.

I snap the paper to attention and pretend to read. My tears blur the words into a muddy jumble. This in nonsense. I should be glad school is back in session. No more sticky kitchen floor, no more sliding door left open, no more trail of Kool-Aid across the rug.

It's no use. I want to jump in the car and follow the school bus to school. I want to peek around the corner of the building to make sure my baby has found the right classroom, has not gotten knocked over by bullies, has remembered to carry her lunch box off of the bus.

But more than that, I want to glimpse into her classroom. I have no need to check the bulletin board or the lesson plans. I want to look into the teachers soul. I want to find some hint of assurance that she is worthy to continue what I have these past years begun.

For, when each of my children turned five, they were suddenly snatched from me. I had, up till then, been the overwhelming influence on their development. Their values were my values, their world was shaped by what I wanted them to see, hear, experience. All at once a teacher, a stranger was taking my place.

And so, I cry on the first day of school. I cry because my child is entering a world which I cannot, now matter how desperately I long to, intrude. I cry because some stranger is taking over the job, not of teaching my child math or reading, but of nurturing his development of self. And I wonder if she'll do it with the dedication I demand.

Each September I fight an overwhelming urge to rush to school to remind the teacher what a very special little person my child is; that he is not just one of a roomful of pupils - he is MY CHILD, would she please, please treat him/her accordingly. Would she be so kind as to try to get to know his/her complex personality, his/her weaknesses. Would she try never to humiliate him or belittle him; would she notice his bad days and on those days treat him ever so gently because he is, after all, not just one of a sea of little bodies - he is special. He's mine.

But of course I can't do that, can't dictate caring to every teacher my children will encounter. I only can hope that each one of them will know that for all the fantastic educational tools a teacher might use and for all her mastery of subject matter and exciting lesson plans, and for all of her intelligence, her most basic responsibility will be unfulfilled if the element of caring is missing. And the key to that, in my mind, lies in seeing each pupil as somebody's precious child.

So I sit on my back porch, drinking a peaceful cup of tea and pretending to read and hope that my children's teachers wee them as unique, complex, fragile, vulnerable beings. I can only hope that the reason they are teachers after all, is to bring each student ever closer to his potential, not just as a mind, but as a heart and soul as well.

I loved it! I thought he must have the best teacher in the world, for her to be so in touch with all of the feelings of my heart. Really she's just been doing this for a really long time, and knows what she's doing. I trust her, and I guess that was the point.