Chicks Dig Scars

Well, Kindergarten hasn’t changed much in the last thirty years.  Maybe physical injury is some rite of passage that my family is destined to go through.  Or, maybe there are just some mean kids out there.  I only got kicked in the forehead by a pointy-toed-boot-wearing-girl (you know who you are Stephanie).  In his second week of school, my son has already gotten a lot worse.

On Wednesday, Tamara got a call from the school nurse that she needed to come pick Griffin up and take him to the doctor.  When she got there, the poor boy had a bruised cheek and was leaking blood from a small gash above his right eye.  And let me tell you, he was not happy at the prospect of getting stitches.

How did it happen?  Griffin was in a stall in the bathroom, when one of his fellow kindergartener’s decided to try and crawl under the door.  My boy told him, in no uncertain terms to, “GET OUT!”  That’s where the story should have ended, but it didn’t.  Upon finishing his business, Griffin unlocked the stall and started to walk out.  On the other side of the door, this ill-behaved child decided to kick the opening door and hit my son with it.  He accomplished what he set out to do, because the corner of the metal door caught Griffin right in the face.

A teacher rushed in as my boy started howling, and caught the other kid.  It turns out that this child was in the teacher’s class and has already exhibited a large amount of disciplinary problems.  That boy was sent to the principal’s office and then later made to come tell Griffin’s teacher what happened and apologize to my son.

Upon seeing the doctor, Griffin was much relieved to find out that there would be no needles or stitches.  They used the same type of glue that they closed up my surgical incision with.  I don’t know what the thought process was there, when they closed the gash and put a big dollop of glue on his eyebrow.  Maybe it will come off easier than I’m thinking, but if not, this whole process promises to be thoroughly traumatizing.

The day it happened, Griffin came home with a different story than the teachers were telling us.  He thought the whole thing was an accident.  I went to school with him the next day and had him show me where it happened, and I tend to believe the story that the teachers told.

 I don’t want to know which kid it was, because I’m already biased against him.  I’m angry that a parent didn’t teach their kid the basic social skill that you don’t go out and hurt someone else on purpose.  But at that age, wounds heal fast.  It wouldn’t be entirely out of the question for my boy and this unruly brat to become the best of friends someday.  I hope not.

On a different note, do you know how hard it is to give a kid a bath and wash their hair when they can’t get their head wet?  It’s extremely difficult to keep water off the glue.  I tried tying a plastic bag around his head, but he kept passing out (just kidding, mom).

First Day of School

Well, Griffin’s first day of school has come and gone, and I think we can say that it was a success.  Tamara and the boys walked to school for his first morning, and even though he wasn’t a big fan of that part, he had a good time anyway.

It was the second day that started with a minor hitch.  Instead of walking all the way, mom and the boys drove up to the trailhead that led to the school.  As they were getting out, Griffin’s Spiderman thermos fell out of his backpack and rolled into a deep culvert.  His little heart was broken.  Daddy had found the very last Spiderman thermos at Target, and now it was gone down the drain…literally.

They drove back to the house and got a replacement before heading back to school.  All was well!  I know some people that would have let that ruin their whole day, but I’m glad it didn’t for him.  As soon as he got to school he ran toward the playground without a backwards glance.  I think he’s settling in just fine.

As my Congolese coworker put it, “You can choose to wallow in your sorrow, or you can focus on the good things.”  And I think he’s right.  There are a lot of things in life that you just don’t have control over.  Worry about them is futile.  That’s a lesson I need to take closer to heart.

The only thing Griffin has had a problem with is answering the same question over and over again.  Everyone is so excited for him, and they all want to know, “How did you like school?”  We’re working with him to help him understand that a lot of times you just have to answer the same question over and over again, and not to get upset.  It can be hard though.

I’ve had the same feelings as him before, and I’ve been guilty of doing it to others.  You know how it is, you’re walking by a coworker and you ask them how they’re doing, and you don’t even stop to hear what their answer is.  You didn’t really want to know how they were doing, you were just being polite.  And then there’s the occasion that one of them stops to actually tell you how they’re doing and you get upset about being pulled into a conversation.

I wonder if this isn’t why teens shut down sometimes when parents ask them about school.  It’s the same question over and over.  It doesn’t take much thought to come up with, “How was school.”  Maybe in their young minds, they’re thinking, ‘You don’t really care how school was, you’re just trying to start a conversation.’

I have no idea if that’s actually how it goes.  I’m just throwing it out there.  If there are any teens reading this, maybe they can weigh in.

As for my experience, I’ve found that I get better results when I ask a specific question.  One that shows I’m plugged in and know what’s going on.  I’ve noticed it in my own life too.  I have a much easier time talking with someone who shows a real interest in what we’re discussing.  Chit-chat has never been my forte, and I’m beginning to think it might be a problem for Griffin too.