The kid who inspired today's blog.... my first born grandchild.
I remember third grade for two significant events; The most auspicious was that Duke Ellington played the piano in our auditorium at Washington Elementary School and afterward we stood in line and he greeted each of us. I remember the little crowd of us short people, standing on the sloping cement loading dock next to a rusty tubular metal railing. I remember the Duke's kind, warm face, and friendly smile. His hair was shiny and immaculately finger waved. I remember his big warm paw of a hand, soft and smooth, scooping up my little grubby one and his words of encouragement to play my piano when I softly, star-struck, told him I took lessons.
Second, is that our class hosted a kid from Sweden that year. His name was Jens. Maybe his father was a visiting professor, maybe he had family living here, perhaps his family just wanted to experience the roots of the free speech movement in its birthplace. I don't know, but Jens turned up in class every day with his limited, lilting English, a light blond with bright blue eyes. I imagine he grew into a handsome Nordic man, likely with a striking resemblance to the guy I loved and would marry twenty-five years later.
On Valentine's Day that year, we all brought our ubiquitous store-bought cards, era-specific by way of theme -- Charlie Brown or cute big-eyed puppies and kittens, perky little cartoonish girls with short page boy haircuts and bowtie lips with quips like "Don't be siss, give me a kiss!" or "A B C D, please oh please will you pick me?" I imagine the cards have slightly less rapey, desperate messages these days.
Because in my day everything had to be fraught with the potential of public shame and embarrassment, much like the frightening P.E. pick line (which always had me as the last of two kids to be chosen, a mortifyingly embarrassing and shitty ritual), if a boy had a crush on you he could bring you a gift on top of the card. These Valentines of special note could be eschewed by the recipient, thus causing ruinous shame, or taken as a very special treat and thus one's suitor eluded mortification.
That year I was the apple of Jens' eye and my Valentine gift was a Kiddle doll. They were wildly popular that year and my parents were considerably stingy about buying me toys. Fact is, I really didn't have dolls or toys like other kids. I had books. This Kiddle doll was lavender scented and was all that and a bag of Granny Goose potato chips. I was thrilled, more so by the gift than by the enamoration of the boy which I didn't give a fig about.
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| photo from TreasuresofPandora on Etsy |
I have no idea whatever else happened in third grade, but over fifty years later, I remember those events.
What is important about this long-winded tale is that I had a third grade to remember. Right now, in the midst of a pandemic which ends who knows when kids have lost most of this school year. They don't have their friends to socialize with, the rituals of their lives, the vibrant classrooms, their beloved teachers, the solid routines and special events that make kid-life memorable
It is unlikely that children today will ever go back to school in the way they remember it as it used to be. But school is only the very crux of the biscuit, as all aspects of life have been altered irrevocably.
My grandson was over a couple of weeks ago. I have made a decision after two months of sheltering in place, to grow my germ pool. This decision did not come lightly. I charted their parent's exposures in the world and discussed my concerns. I made a choice based upon two factors; my mental health, and then, theirs.
Squeazel (as I call him on social media) spent three days with me in my quiet solitude here in Berkeley. Since I am working remotely, it seemed practical to have him here doing some schoolwork while I dig into my own job. This did not transpire as expected.
His parents both have told me how impossible it is to get him to do schoolwork. I respond that they must be patient and understanding of his limitations, that their frustrations are understandable, but consider how hard this is for him. At one point my son (their father) said, "Schoolwork is not as important as my relationship with my son" and he softened his approach. The kid's mother likewise has decided to back off. The kid is in a special education program for some reason or another, and he's going to be so behind, but so be it.
On our way to my house, we had a zoom meeting with his IEP teachers. We went over some portals to access for reading comprehension and I felt encouraged that we could do this. Yeah, no.
We opened the portal on his laptop and his eyeballs rolled up in his head. He distracted himself at every opportunity, especially whenever the squirrel in my yard literally distracted him running by the window. "Squirrel!" the kid would say, and then get up to go outside and see if the resident crow was out as well.
This happened repeatedly.
Once demanded to focus, he quickly read through the first story and complained it was "too hard" and "too long". We were only five minutes into the exercises when the real arguing began. I lost my temper in short order and stomped myself to the back of the house, slammed a door and muttered curses in his general direction. This startled him and he tried valiantly to apply himself. I settled myself down quickly and we went through the multiple choice questions. His answer choices were rushed and compulsive. I tried to apply some critical thinking and he squirmed, finding something else to look at somewhere across the room. He answered many of the questions incorrectly although he clearly could parse out the correct answers if he had paid any attention. This kid is no slacker in the brain department when he chooses to use it.
It wasn't that he wouldn't apply himself; no, it was that he could not. It wasn't defiance or even lack of interest, for even when reading a section on octopus which was of interest, he was incapable of putting his attention to the task.
In the end, I told him I was so sorry to have lost my temper and that my relationship with him is far more important than doing schoolwork. We agreed he would do a little bit of reading and that we would watch something educational shows on TV. We ended up watching a documentary about animals on the Savannah at night and discussed what we watched. Then we went to the rose garden, at his insistence and walked around smelling roses.
Later, he told me wanted to go home. "There aren't any people here, Nana" he told me apologetically, and I understood. Under normal circumstances, my grandkids love the downtime they get at my house. Between gardening and going to a local park, cooking fantastic meals on their own, playing with the dog or just hanging out watching TV, they have zero problem with the lack of people or the quiet of my existence. In normal times, my house is a respite from the chaos and clamor of their daily lives. But not now; now, my house is a reminder of isolation and solitude. I think it becomes too evident that we are not living in our normal world anymore.
I have my own ideas about what kids are going through these days. They are, in spite of their complaints about school, missing their teachers and the other kids. They're missing the structure of it and having a life outside of home. They're missing their playdates and park days. They're hearing the news, and what adults are talking about and they are wondering what this means. I doubt they think far enough into the future to wonder what it means for them, but they think in the right now. And right now is a gut-punch of isolation and fear and frustration and longing, perhaps.
Adults tend to think of kids as resilient and in some ways impervious. Children have to be; they have to seek comfort in very fundamental ways because they cannot care for themselves. They generally have the outward appearance of being more or less okay, even if on the inside, their stomachs are in knots and their heart pounds out of their chest.
We, the theoretical grown-ups, forget that while we have outlets -- we can be outwardly angry and defiant, we have the resources to reach out to our friends whenever we want, and we can soothe ourselves in a myriad of ways -- children don't have the freedom we do to act out or find comfort for themselves. We quelch them when they're angry, soothe them to quiet when they cry. We shush them for their defiance and send them to their rooms when they lash out.
Maybe we need to be sent to our rooms without our toys because God knows, if we were, we might have a little more empathy for our kids.
I am worried for our kids' mental health, frankly. We can be the best, most supportive people for them and still what has happened will forever alter their lives and who they are. They will always remember the Spring of 2020 when the world fell apart and their lives fell apart and in some cases, their parents fell apart. Some will remember losing loved ones - not so in our case, thank goodness. All of them, all the kids in the entire world, will remember the months -- and perhaps longer -- when their world stopped and there was no school.
Some children, probably many more than we could bear to know, are being abused. Many are suffering emotional issues from which they may not ever recover. And who will these children become when they grow up?
While we try to make sense of this and determine how we can rebuild our lives as adults in a different post-Covid19 world, we must think about how we can help our children to find hope and true resilience as we go through this, not just when it is over. We need to help them find the kind of resilience that comes from rebirth, not the kind of resilience that comes from surviving trauma. This is the difference between thriving an thriving. Let's help them redefine their world, not just endure it. And if that means school's out for the year, so be it. There are memories we need to help them build now, memories that will last the rest of our lives. Let them be good ones.
As always, be kind.
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