Fall, Fall, Fall

On the first day of third grade, the whole family went to drop off the Rooster. We had prepped, we had visited a day ahead, we had the uniform clothes ready, we had our camera, and after a summer of tutoring and camp and social skills classes and relaxation and play, we were ready to face public school again.

We were not ready. We were NOT at all ready.

After ten minutes of hugs and kisses and pictures, the boy walks tall and proud to his line, where a blonde girl named M sees him and goes into a loud, screaming fit. "NO! NOOOOOO! He can't be in OUR CLASS! THIS IS THE WORST CLASS EVER!" She runs to tell anyone who will listen. The teacher sees her.

"Get back in line," he tells her. That's it, that is all he says. "Get in line and stay there, facing forward."

I grab my boy, who is now half-size, deflated, head hung. The rules are clear: I am not supposed to deal with other children, and the teacher is right there, near us, so I turn to my child, his chin in my hand, my heart in his body. "We LOVE you, Rooster. You are the best boy in the whole world. We are proud of you. You are smart and strong and beautiful. Be nice to everyone, and if anyone is not nice, ignore them. We can't wait to see you later."

The teacher marches the line toward the building. I quickly grab the aide, make sure she understands what just happened, that she will help. I find the resource teacher, tell her too, suggest social stories, implore intervention. Later my husband and I will begin sending emails, but first I need to drive to the gas station and cry.

I have not received a single email in response. The rooster? His feathers seem unruffled, but that's just surface, you know? I dread the next 170+ days ahead.

How was your first week of school?