Preschool Graduation
On the last Friday in May, I took my son to his preschool graduation. It was a last-minute addition to our schedule. During most of the year, my son had dreaded going to school each morning, afraid to spend time away from Mommy and home. In keeping with the local health department, all students and teachers wore masks throughout the day, and parents were not allowed into the school building. These practices were considered necessary in order to keep the school operational, but they also contributed to my son’s anxiety.
My husband and I learned a great deal from our son’s first school experience. We learned he needed extra help and support to succeed in the classroom, and we had spent the last six months completing evaluations, filling out forms, talking with our insurance company, and taking my son to appointments. James and I did everything we could to help our son adjust to the classroom experience and build basic four-year-old skills.
So when I saw our son take the stage with his preschool peers at graduation, I was proud of him. He was the one who had asked to attend. He wanted to be with his classmates during this special event.
The Song
At the direction of their teacher, the preschool class began to sing. They had memorized all the words, with accompanying hand gestures.
“I love you in the morning, and in the afternoon,” sang the little preschoolers. “I love you in the evening, and underneath the moon.”
I knew this one. It was my son’s favorite. He sang it in the car, or while playing in his bedroom.
All the students boldly sang the words, then raised their hands in time with the song.
All the students, except my son. He stood on the far left-hand side, smiling nervously and rubbing his nose. His eyes roved over the crowd of parents and family members, before returning to me.
A hundred people were watching, and while of course their attention was centered on their own preschooler, surely some of them noticed my son’s non-conforming behavior. It was impossible to ignore.
I picked at the growing hole in my jeans, wishing I had dressed a little nicer. Everyone sitting nearby spoke Ukrainian, not English, so I hadn’t spoken to anyone while waiting for my son to perform. Perhaps like my son, I felt trapped in a bubble of non-communication.
The song finished, with my son still not having sung a single line. I clapped with the rest of the crowd, but inside my mother’s heart filled with frustration and shame.
Why can’t my son act like the other children? Why does he have to stand out so much?
What am I doing wrong?
Preschool Charcuterie
After the ceremony, the preschoolers presented their parents with carnations. My son came running towards me with a huge grin.
“Mommy!” he thrust a flower into my hand, then climbed on my lap. I held him close and gave him a warm snuggle hug.
“Little guy, I’m so proud of you! You’re a preschool graduate now!”
He wiggled on my lap and giggled. “Mommy?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Do we get to eat cookies now?”
I smiled and smoothed out his ruffled hair. “Yes, very soon, I think.”
My son and I were one of the first in line for treats. It was an impressive spread of “preschool charcuterie”: grapes, cheese, summer sausage, Goldfish crackers, and Milano cookies. Capri Suns, juice boxes, and water for drinks. Over to the right was an ice cream station, which of course we tried as well.
Once we had our goodies, I found a table in the middle of the foyer and sat down with my son. More people came and sat around or near us, but no one spoke to us. No little preschoolers came up to my son to say hello, and he didn’t say hello to anyone either. The two parents that I did know from half-day pickup sat far away with other family and friends.
I had started this school year with great hope, excited to belong to a community and meet other parents. Yet after a full year of preschool, neither my son nor myself had made a single friend. The fact that this was our first year coming out of COVID isolation only made this feel worse. Although I was surrounded by a crowd of people, I felt invisible and alone.
My son didn’t care that no one was talking to him; he was too busy enjoying his exciting plate of treats. I passed him a napkin, and then surveyed the room.
A Faith-Based Education
Someone had created a rainbow of balloons around the Blessed Mother statue. Seeing her image reminded me of why I was sending my son to school here.
It’s all about the Catholic education, I reminded myself. I want my son to learn about God at school. To walk by the tabernacle in the chapel every day, where Jesus is present, and to see the Blessed Mother each morning.
After my son finished eating, I took him by the hand and led him over to the statue.
“Little guy, look over here! Smile for Mommy!”
I snapped a picture when my son smiled again. He wasn’t looking at the camera, but it would have to be good enough.
My son smiling but not looking at me, I thought with a sigh. That’s a more accurate portrait of him, anyways.
After that, we said good-bye to the preschool teacher and headed home.
Breaking Point
Once we returned to the house, my son’s behavior became wild and unruly. He wanted to move every toy in the living room into one massive, magpie-style configuration. I knew it would take twice as long to put away his creation then it did for him to make it. I had never succeeded, even once, in having him help me put all the toys back when he was finished.
Just looking at my son’s elaborate toy pile made me feel stressed and overwhelmed. I needed order, and there was no order. I needed a rest after an emotional afternoon, and there was no rest. Most of all, I needed my son to listen to me. He would not.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I told him. “I have to bring Elizabeth down from her nap.” I climbed the stairs and lifted a sleepy Elizabeth out of her crib. She was all softness and snuggles, tucking her head into my shoulder. I held her close as we headed downstairs, and then opened the childproof gate.
My son looked up in alarm, then charged at us.
“Nooo! Elizabeth can’t be here! Elizabeth can’t play with my toys!”
“Little guy, Elizabeth is done with her nap. Can’t we find something for her to play with?”
“Nooo!” My son grabbed at Elizabeth. I backed off. In the past, he had hit or even bit her in one of these moods.
When he came at me again, my temper flared. All my pent-up frustration from the school year and preschool graduation and now my son’s aggressive behavior rose to the surface.
When my son pushed me and grabbed for Elizabeth again, I pushed back—hard.
“Get away from her!” I shouted. I wanted him to stay away from my daughter, and at that moment, I wanted him far away from me, too.
My son fell to the ground. His face turned bright red and he started crying.
“Mommy, don’t do that!”
I put Elizabeth down and knelt beside my son. In the commotion, I’d also scratched him when I was trying to keep him from his sister.
“I’m sorry, are you okay?” After a few more tears, my son stopped crying, and he was okay. With my husband’s help after work, we survived the rest of that day.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened – and how I’d reacted.
The Search for Peace
When my son had come at me, I’d reacted physically in my daughter’s defense. I meant to control my son’s wild behavior, but I was the one who felt out of control.
After some reflection, I discovered a troubling truth: if I returned to that moment again, I expected I would react in the exact same way. I didn’t know how else to act in that situation. And in that moment, I hadn’t felt like it was me pushing my beloved son to the ground. It had happened automatically, without my conscious decision. I had allowed myself to become too stressed and overwhelmed to make a better choice.
“Then you have to find a way to stay calm, even when everything around you is not calm,” I lectured myself. I massaged my aching temples, trying to think of some way to accomplish this impossible thing. “My son needs me to be calm. My daughter needs me to be calm. James needs me to be calm.”
So the solution was to find a way to remain at peace during a domestic crisis. But how?
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To be continued…
Thank you so much for reading! Please visit the blog next week for more of the story! 🙂
