22 Jan When Starting School Is Harder on Parents Than Children
Starting school was a far bigger wrench for me than it was for my son, writes Cathy Watson
“Sending my second child – my ‘soft’ son – into the ruthless world of school was a harsh concept and I struggled with it far more than he did.”
Letting go of my ‘soft’ child
This morning my six-year-old son went into his classroom without a backward glance. He walked up the ramp, holding his partner’s hand, straight into the shrouded, enigmatic world of the classroom, without looking back.
It’s hard to believe that six years have passed since he was a baby. As an infant, he followed the usual patterns of separation anxiety at around nine months of age. For me that was both a blessing and a curse. He clung to my skirts longer than my other two children. But gradually, independence emerged and he appeared more confident.
He has retained a softness and sweetness about him, which is a rarity. When he was three, he was walking through a rainforest and stopped in his tracks.
“Shh Mum, listen,” he whispered.
I stopped and strained my ears.
“The forest is talking to me.”
Later he informed me that the rain had gone to sleep.
He, of all my sons, has an ability to connect with people. From an early age he greeted strangers wherever he went. He would gently make insightful comments, and even people who didn’t like children seemed to respond to him. When he was two we spent time with a friend who had recently suffered her second miscarriage. As we were walking in the playground, he reached up and held her hand. She walked with him, tears streaming down her face.
Sending my second child – my ‘soft’ son – into the ruthless world of school was a harsh concept and I struggled with it far more than he did. It doesn’t seem that long ago when he was my little mate at home.
The day he didn’t need me to stay
On his first day at school I was prepared to stay for several hours so that I could help him settle in and feel secure. But after ten minutes of sitting down with him doing a puzzle, he said barely audibly:
“Mum, it’s about time you left now”.
He was wrong. He needed me and couldn’t possibly cope by himself in that unfamiliar classroom. It was impossible that such a sweet creature could withstand the rigours of the schoolyard.
But the teacher assured me he would be okay. Full of misgivings, I left, mobile charged, ready to return and rescue my son from the relentless world of school. That phone call never came.
When separation anxiety shifts parents, not children
He has been a big schoolboy for more than six months now and loves following in his older brother’s footsteps. Each morning as he lines up in the schoolyard I stand close by as he finds his line partner, rearranges his bag and greets his friends. And each morning, as he disappears up the ramp to his classroom, he surreptitiously looks to make sure I am standing there waving at him.
And then he smiles and is absorbed into the well-oiled machinery of the halls of learning. He needs to know that I am there and will be at that same spot waiting for him when the final bell sounds for dismissal.
But this morning he didn’t look my way before the doors were shut. He was already immersed in his weekday world and anticipating the day. He knew I was there and that I would be there again this afternoon.
I made my way back with my youngest to the dishevelled house that bore the evidence of the recent whirlwind of pre-school activity. It occurred to me that the last of the separation anxiety seemed to have dissipated.
For him anyway.
But that’s more than I can say for his mother.
