During those last weeks, each day when asked how his day went, Crowbar would respond with a litany of complaints:
My teacher yells too much.
Those kids are babies.
All the toys there are lame.
It was clear that as one of the older kids in the center, he’d simply outgrown the place. He wasn’t being challenged. And while I wasn’t thrilled about sending him to go hang with 'those babies' anymore, I knew that last week in particular would ultimately make his transition to kindergarten easier.
The kid was beyond ready.
The morning of his first day, he woke early and rushed to get ready. He slowed a little to take extra time to comb his hair just so and then he dutifully placed the laminated nametag he’d been given at open house around his neck, taking care to make sure his name was in clear view.
He was in the big leagues now.
He bounded onto the bus, barely touching the ground, and proceeded immediately, confidently to the back where the big kids sat.
He didn't mess around with the small kids in the front. He was a big kid now.
It was about noon when I got the call from the health room. The lady on the other end called to discuss an "incident" at lunch. An incident where my boy -- my big boy -- was bitten by another kid.
"Someone bit him?" I asked, surprised. Crowbar hadn't been bitten since he was three -- and that was from a fussy two year-old at day care.
The bite didn't break the skin, but the nurse informed me he had a pretty good series of welts -- a perfect outline of a full set of teeth, tops and bottoms, on his upper arm.
Then she assured me that Crowbar handled the incident well. No tears, no fighting, no raging accusations. He'd simply grabbed his injured arm, turned to the lunchroom lady and said,
"That kid just bit me."
Apparently, he'd said it in an incredulous way, with shocked disbelief.
This is kindergarten?! He must've thought. Biting in kindergarten? Are you freaking kidding me? I left that crummy day care for this?
The nurse added that despite his trip to the health room -- a trip where loads of extra attention and special treatment are standard -- he'd refused medical attention. He'd waived off her efforts to inspect his injury and declined the ice pack she'd offered.
Crowbar doesn't like a fuss. He wanted to get back to class and on with business.
Luckily, the incident didn't diminish the thrill and excitement of his first day. He skipped off the bus and directly into my arms, talking nonstop about how great his day had been. It wasn't until later that night that he remembered to tell me what had happened -- and when he did, he was very matter of fact.
He is, after all, a big kid. There's no need to make a fuss. Fussing is for babies.
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2 comments:
What a great account...perhaps the maturity came to Crowbar during his time in the 'Bush' league this summer!
I think his time in pee-wee baseball may have aged ME prematurely. Those were some long games where the most action came from kids running through the playing field to go use the bathroom. :)
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