IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:The words 'I don't want to go to school' don't augur well for the next 14 years, writes ADAM BROPHY.
THE YOUNGER has a default setting for a number of emotions. Happiness, nervousness and excitement are expressed by curling the tongue behind her lower teeth so its bulge protrudes to the right of her mouth.
As her mother led her to the school gates for the first time this morning, the tongue lolled from side to side. Lamb to slaughter sprang to mind, but then I remembered the younger’s grim determination and worried for the other lambs in her class. She is a wonderful force to be reckoned with.
Today is induction day for next year’s junior infants. She woke with the words, “I don’t want to go to school.’’ It didn’t augur well for the next 14 years.
We cajoled her from the scratcher, no mean feat most days but today an additional magnetic pull held her to the mattress. Eventually, scrubbed behind ears, she is sat at the kitchen table, staring into her Cheerios. She eyes the rabbits who seem to be breeding like, well, themselves, in our garden and I’m sure envies their freedom. Institution closes over her head. She chews, issues directions and asks questions.
“Will you tell the teacher I already know some Irish words so she doesn’t have to teach me. I can say, ‘Tá mé go maith’.”
“Yes, of course we will. No teaching today.”
“Will I have to learn? I don’t really want to learn today.” “There won’t be much learning today. You’ll meet the teacher and your classmates, and see your classroom.”
“Do I have to put my hand up if I want to talk?” “Oh yeah.” “Why?” “Well, if every kid wanted to speak in class at the same time the teacher wouldn’t have a clue what anyone was saying. You have to take turns.”
She finds this amusing. I’m pretty sure the anarchist in her is taking note. Class can be disrupted by united disharmony, simmer at a low heat and allow bubbles to rise. Undermine authority figure and align the masses. Attack.
Once again, a little fear enters my heart. I give the younger too much credit for outrage. Where her sister will do everything within her power to please, the younger has no interest in your feelings. She is too busy grappling with her own.
The world is not something she runs to, like some kids do, blindly believing there is a safety net to cosset their every stumble. She sees the world as huge, and not always friendly. She worries what the new will bring and is under no misapprehension that she will be granted any favours.
She wears her concern on her face, and in just the same way she bounces joy from her body when she is happy. She is what she shows. Strangers beware. Approach her at your peril for she will not smile for your pleasure. You are a large strange creature of which she has no reckoning, and she will protect herself.
In the same way, she will envelope you in her love when the defences have been withdrawn and a relationship (a positive one at least, cry mercy if you have offended) established.
So, I see her walk the school run hand in hand with her mum, blonde pigtails bouncing, pink backpack with sandwiches, in a different light from her sister’s departure some years ago.
Her concern is not separation from us, she knows we’re coming back. It’s immersion in the new. The strange. And she is wary.
The way you are in the world reflects, obviously, the way you have been taught to view the world in your home. We have imbued her with this wariness.
We haven’t done this deliberately, but somehow the way we operate has made it apparent to her that you test the water with your toe before launching in from the high board. For this, I am sad.
She won’t run into a group of kids and scream, “I’m here!” She will approach and circle, maybe move in, possibly retreat. She will guard herself.
As a result, she may not be hurt at the outset. She will wait until she is sure, and then give all of herself. And probably be hurt far more.
The first entry into school does this. It shines a light down the long path that you have trod and is only now starting to open for the child, bright and new. Shiny and safe, or dark and dangerous?
I know she’ll come home and in response to our questions she’ll plant her tongue behind her teeth and shrug. Later tonight we’ll hear some details. By tomorrow, it might all come out. She’s careful and she’s brilliant.