The Teacher and Julie

My oldest child is still very little.  She is the oldest of 4 siblings and she is not quite 7 years old.  This past school-year she was in first grade.

This is what we look like every day walking home from school. We smile just like this, everyday.

The first day of first grade she wore a cream colored shirt that had the word “fiesta” embroidered on the front of it in red.  She wore it because, “School is like a fiesta.”

First day of school, fiesta-ing it up.

She was a new student at her school that first day. Our family moved ten minutes up the road from a two bedroom apartment into a three bedroom house (+ 2 car garage) and, yes, we feel like we live in a mansion. The move put her into a different elementary school.

Julie felt like a new girl.  She was worried about making friends.  With a June birthday, she was one of the younger kids so I was concerned about her making friends, too. After the first few days, it was obvious she was a bit behind most of the other first-graders in reading. I was worried about her academic transition, as well. My oldest brother and his wife have opted to home-school their four school-aged children, and I admired the fun and educational things they were doing at home.  I was thinking about home-schooling for a year and see how it went.  Sending my sweet baby girl off to a new school in a friendless world, where she didn’t feel up as smart as her classmates was a daily nightmare. Guess what?  No need to worry.

Enter, Mrs. Harris.  Julie’s teacher.  A spunky blond in glasses.  She nicknamed Julie, Joodles after the first week.  A good sign.  And she wasn’t too serious. Julie had a spelling test every Friday.  Ten words.  Not hard words. Julie brought home a spelling test with the most elaborate curly-que font I’d ever seen.  Every word on that spelling test was spelled wrong, including her name. She’d forgotten the “e.” Her teacher wrote,” Very pretty Julie, but let’s save this kind of writing for your journal.”  Tactful, appreciative, and she addressed the problem.  I liked her.  And, so did Julie.  Julie’s reading advanced remarkably.  She made friends. She was a happy girl scampering off to school in the mornings.

Our crossing guard,"You shall not pass."  He's excited for the onset of summer.

As a child,  I was always excited for the last day of school. I looked forward to a summer of sleeping in and playing. I hadn’t even considered the prospect of other emotions.  Julie did not wake up as a girl of possibility. Julie woke up cranky.  Whining over every little thing.  She didn’t like her packed lunch.  She wouldn’t eat her cornflakes. Now her cornflakes were mushy. I don't like my outfit. Was she tired?  This was so weird. After some prodding, she admitted that she was sad because she was going to miss first grade.  

What are you going to miss about it, Julie?

“I’m going to miss my teacher.  I won’t see Mrs. Harris every day.”

Julie was devastated. Oh, my sweet little girl with your broken heart.

I walked her to school.  She cried the whole way.

I took her to her classroom.  I told her teacher the sad, flattering truth.  Julie said the pledge of allegiance with tears in her eyes.  It was hard for me to leave her in such a crumpled state, but off I went.

I picked her up at the end of the day.  She was all sugar and spice, with giggles like a school girl.  We had planned early in the day to get a picture with her teacher before we left.

Mrs. Harris, after we took the picture of her and darling Julie, started to dab at the corners of her eyes while her students came to hug her goodbye.

I feel good about sending my child out into the great wide world, and having her love that world.  And then, when that world loves her back.  Wow.  That’s something.