Honesty Is Always the Best Policy, Conclusion

 …Very long story short, the Circle of Concerns came to a screeching halt that day.  That was not our intent.  But, in fact, the principal had NOT been aware of the practice and was none too pleased that this teacher had chosen to keep her students indoors while the other first graders were at recess.  There were no cross words spoken that day.  But, the way the teacher carried herself and responded to her supervisor, in front of us, created, in me, a general distrust.  Throughout the next several months,   I made myself available for homeroom stuff and each time I came away with the sense that she was stuck in a job that she really did not relish. 

   Imagine my unease when one day our son came home with a permission slip for a field trip…to HOUSTON.  Unable to go as a chaperon,  I worked myself into a dither imagining my son in her care…would she allow the frustrations of any trip with children to cloud her judgment?  Would she watch after him as I would? Absolutely not!  I was deathly afraid of her watching after my child on a field trip that far from home.  The only answer was to keep him home that day.  And that’s what I did.

  The next day, I was presented with a dilemma.  Being the rule follower that I was, I knew I had to provide the school an excuse for his absence.  What would I write?  As I discussed this with my husband, I failed to notice the two big ears that were tuned in like radar to our conversation. 

My husband ever the pragmatist, said, “Just say we kept him home because we did not want him to go on the field trip.” 

I answered back, “Then his teacher will know for sure we don’t trust her.”

He said, “We don’t.”

I said, “I know, but I don’t want her to know it.  I think that I will just say we kept him home because he had a temperature.”

“So you would rather tell a lie?” he asked.

“He did have a temperature!” I shot back.  “It was 98.6”

 With a roll of his eyes, I knew he wasn’t in favor, but he left for work with no further protest.

   Excuse in hand, I dropped my son off at school and headed back home to begin my day.  Errands run, and housework begun the dilemma of what to write on his excuse was taken care of -- my mind was a million miles away.  So the phone call from the school caught me by surprise.  It was the nurse calling to say that my precious one had gotten sick to his stomach and had thrown up. Rushing to the school with concern for his well-being, the “little white lie” I had told was forgotten until I pulled open the front door.  In the foyer, I was confronted with a sight that sent cold chills down my spine. 

  I had developed a highly sensitive radar that signaled that something was about to come out of his mouth.  (Need I remind you of this boy’s proclivity to ‘big talk’?) Red lights were flashing and buzzers were going off in my head.  Quickly, I surveyed the situation and ran through the options that came to mind.    Too far away to scoop him up like a football and race for the door-- out of earshot—without looking like a complete nutcase, I soaked up the scene.  There he stood with his sweet little arms crossed standing in the midst of the principal, his reading teacher, and the school nurse.  As I drew near and attempted to speak with the ladies, he, very confidently, put his hands on his hips and quipped, “That’s what you get for lying to my teacher.” 

   Awkward.  Now how do you recover from that?  Being the super mom that I was, I very quickly took my leave from the ladies, knowing full well, they needed the opportunity to guffaw at what had just happened.  Like any loving mother, I reached out and put my arm around him and began to move him toward the front door.  What was unseen to those behind us, was the fact that I actually had him in a ‘vulcan death grip’.  Amazingly, he was rendered silent.  As the doors to the school closed behind us, I bent down and spoke gently into his ear.

  “Do you see that house there across the street?”

He nodded in the affirmative.

I whispered, “You had better be thankful that we do not live there.  As it stands, I will have time to cool off before we get home…otherwise, if we lived in that house across the street, I would blister your behind before we got in the front door.”

   It was then that I recognized the ‘death grip’ on my own heart. I was upset with my first grader for calling me out on a lie.  Even though my motive was pure, I was wrong.  Scripture says that “out the mouths of babes you have ordained praise”.  In that moment, “conviction of wrongdoing” proceeded from the mouth of my own “babe”.  

   Humiliation and conviction together are almost too much! It was enough to stop me in my tracks and prevent me from following through with my very viable threat.  We did have an earnest conversation concerning his mouth, and I reminded him, again, that he was indeed only 7 years old.  21 years later the whole incident is relayed as one of many Personal Moments of Parental Failure.  I shall never forget that day and the lesson that I learned…truly honesty is ALWAYS the best policy.

Honesty Is Always the Best Policy : Part 2

    ……and what was this teacher going to do with her first graders concerns?   After conferring with my husband, it was decided that he would make an appointment to see the teacher.  This was our first (and no, not last) foray into “childhood education concern-ville”.  I had recently read an article about schools integrating yoga into their P.E. classes and I was convinced the Circle of Concerns was a mystical first step into transcendental meditation.  (Did I mention that due to the very recent birth of Wil, my hormones were through the roof?) Needless to say, John was more than willing to get to the bottom of this, what was probably a harmless, situation, to ease my mind.

   Unfortunately, when he returned home, I could tell he had more concerns than when he left.  As it turned out, this particular teacher was keeping her class in from recess to conduct her “Circle of Concerns”—light out—candle in the middle of the circle—OF FIRST GRADERS!!  INSTEAD OF RECESS??  Evidently she was very abrupt with my husband and none too pleased that she had been questioned about it.  According to her, hers was the only first grade class that had adopted the practice.   It was something she started with the blessing of the Principal and she was kind enough to offer John the chance to take it up with her.  He was more than happy to oblige with the added caveat that when the appointment with the Principal was made, she, the teacher, would be in that meeting, as well.

   We had been so spoiled to his Kindergarten teacher.  She had been stellar and we had expected nothing less from this teacher.  No, initially, this one  had not been as personable but, neither had she been a nightmare.  As we sat across from the principal’s desk, she assured us that, although the other classes were full and we could not move him, she felt certain we could work out the issue.  My heart began to lighten as we awaited his teacher’s arrival in the meeting.  I envisioned us forging a bond that would bring us together in the common goal of educating our eldest…Until she walked in the door.

   An empty chair sat to my immediate right and it was the dirty sneaker that first caught my eye.  The dirty sneaker on her foot, that whizzed by my head.  The same dirty sneaker, connected to the leg, of which she hiked over the back of the chair next to me.  With a masterful leap frog maneuver she plopped down in the chair beside me and folded her arms across her chest, all professionalism hopping right out the window.  Two things crossed my mind: #1 This is not good.  #2 This is really not good...(to be continued)

Honesty is Always the Best Policy

   “I get to light the candle tomorrow.”  It was a statement made quite matter-of-factly by my first grader as I was bathing his week old brother.

   “Huh?”

   “Mrs. White said I could light the candle tomorrow.”

   “With what ? ”  I asked.

   “A match,” He answered.

   Immediately, my mind was whisked away to that ‘Mama Bear’ place of WHAT? WHO WOULD TELL YOU, IT WAS OK FOR YOU TO LEARN TO STRIKE A MATCH WHEN THAT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN HERE?!?!  You see, the baby I was bathing was my THIRD son and John and I had put safeguards in place that would hopefully prevent any unfortunate circumstances like, oh let’s say, our boys BURNING OUR HOUSE DOWN, from happening.  Using matches was a no-no and why on earth would anyone tempt my six-year-old with that?

   Not wanting to let him see me sweat, I asked, “What candle?”

   “The candle in the circle of cu-surs.”

   Puzzled, I asked, “What is a circle of cu-surs?”

   “You know….it’s circle where we share our cu-surs.”

   “Why do you need a candle?”

   He seemed a little perturbed as he answered, “Because the light is off.”

   By now, I am beginning to get fidgety.  “What is a cu-sur?”

   With Ninja Turtle in hand, he explained, “Like Daniel.   His dog died and he shared it.  Or like when you get in trouble with your mom and dad..."

   I interrupted him, “Oh, you mean ‘concerns’!  The circle of concerns.”

   “Yes! Cu-surs!!  Miss White asks us if we have any cu-surs and we can talk about them.”

   Now, I am in panic mode.  This precocious child of mine whose mouth, on countless occasions, had been the source of much awkwardness was now given a daily platform and opportunity to dish on whatever he deemed a concern?!?!  Really?? This is the child that stood in my kitchen between my 8 ½ months pregnant belly and a plumber- with arms crossed demanding to know, “Are you kissing my Momma?!?”   This is the one that told his dad’s fellow employee that, “My momma is sleeping with customers”, when I was at a Ladies Sunday school class Slumber Party. (To which his dad quickly responded, “We do what we gotta do.”)  This precious angel is the same who, after having been threatened repeatedly to “whisper” in church, continued to talk out loud.  Upon picking him up and carrying him out, he—mid-sermon—yelled out, “HELP ME!” This is the one.   The blonde haired, blue eyed doll that for all I knew had already been sharing his concerns…and only heaven knows what those were. I could only imagine what he had shared about a spanking he had recently received………………………………………………to be continued

Gravel Face

   His name was Gravel Face.  He was the one thing that could strike terror, in my heart, at the mere mention of his name.  He was hideous and dangerous.  And unfortunately, he lived under my bed.  I never actually saw him…well at least with my eyes, but I knew he was real and that he was there…EVERY NIGHT.  During the day, I was safe.  But when night fell, danger lurked just below the antique four-poster in my room. 

   Every night was the same.  Standing at the door with my hand on the light switch, I calculated the distance I would have to run/jump to make it into the bed, while keeping my legs and feet just out of reach of his nasty hands.  With the skill of an Olympic triple-jumper, I would dash for bed, trying my best to beat the light.  In one motion, I would land in the bed and cover my head.  I was surrounded by an army of ever vigilant stuffed animals, whose sole mission was to protect me from You-Know-Who.  Long before Harry Potter was created… He Who Must Not Be Named was my enemy-- and I would not mention his name out loud.

   Unfortunately, just about the time my heart would calm and I would venture out from under the security of the cover, our nighttime ritual – just like the Waltons- would begin.

   “Good night, Suzy! Good night, Ricky and Robby!”

     I would quickly answer, “Goodnight, Mama!  Goodnight, Daddy!  Good night, Ricky and Robby!”

   And then, my brothers would answer, “Goodnight, Mama! Goodnight, Daddy!  Goodnight, Suzy!...Goodnight, Gravel Face!”

   And that is the moment I would turn to stone.  No movement, just a constant stare into the dark waiting for the moment of my demise.  Somewhere in the night, sleep would come and I would wake up the next morning in virtually the same position in which I had landed the night before.  Happy for the bright daylight, I would go about my day without a thought about him until nighttime.

   Finally, my parents put an end to Gravel Face.  My mom gave me a small antique lamp made of pink glass.  It was in the shape of a lady wearing hoop skirt, holding an umbrella.  Magical!  Sitting it on my nightstand would not do.  No, I put that gem under my bed.  In fact, from then on, my room was bright at night!  My bed looked as though it sat upon a cloud of neon.  It was awesome!  No more Gravel Face.

   I lost track of that life-saving lamp.  And it wasn’t until last year, some 40 years later, that while visiting one of my aforementioned torturers, I meant, brothers, did I come across that lamp again.  This time in an antique store, and yes, I bought it.  And just in the nick of time.

   The last few months have been a struggle.  It seems that I have hit a speed bump with my health.  Pulmonary Hypertension has taken the place of Gravel Face, and recently, I have experienced that awful feeling of turning to stone.  Monday, I will undergo my 6^th heart catheterization, to monitor the progression of this disease.  Statistically, I am living on borrowed time, and yet, I believe that God gave the lamp back to me as a reminder. 

   My parents had given me light to vanquish the scariest thing in my life, a childhood monster named Gravel Face.  Thankfully, my Heavenly Father brought me from darkness into light, so that I no longer fear the dark.   Monday will be terrifying, but I am confident in Him. I am thankful that as I lay upon the gurney in that Cath Lab, I will be surrounded, engulfed, and wrapped in the warm light of His love.

You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.  Psalm 18:28