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Sight words, writing his full name, addition, and subtraction — there’s a lot I know my 4-year-old son, Cooper, will learn at school this year. And because he truly loves to learn, I know he’ll nail it all. When he decided he wanted to write his numbers, we spent hours over one weekend practicing until he could scribble every digit almost as neatly as my own. When the kindergartners in his class of 3- to 5-year-olds began learning to read, he asked me for nights on end to teach him, too. I have no doubt he’ll gobble up every lesson his teacher gives him this year. But it’s not his academics I’m most excited for him to master.
You see, my little guy is exactly like me when I was his age: introverted, terrified of conflict, and at times cripplingly risk-averse. I’ve been prone to anxiety my entire life, afraid to put my face underwater when learning to swim or to ever take my training wheels off. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I learned to stand up for myself, and if we’re being honest, it still takes a major slight to prompt it. I see all of that same hesitation in my son. As the person who never learned to ride a bike or swim underwater, the grown woman who still feels a burning unease inside while struggling to speak up, I want to do everything in my power to change his trajectory.
Cooper has always been shy, and he isn’t one to stand up for himself or say anything to another kid who wrongs him (in the way little kids can “wrong” one another — snatching a toy, wiping a booger on his arm, you know). We’ve always told him the same thing: “Use your words and tell them no. If they don’t listen, ask your teacher for help.” For years, my husband and I have repeated the same refrain, until his first year in Montessori school.
In true toddler fashion, he wasn’t a fan of trying new foods, so I was elated when Cooper asked to eat lunch from the cafeteria on Fridays when they serve chicken nuggets or pizza. Then one day, on the drive home from school, I asked how his lunch was… and somebody had stolen his chicken nuggets. So, I messaged his teacher to let her know, and she assured me she knew the likely culprit and would sit that student with the kindergarten girls who she knew would give him hell.
Then she shared her insights: Cooper hadn’t said a word to anyone about it. It rang true for me that not only did my little shy guy not feel confident standing up for himself, but he also wasn’t sure how to ask for help, or when it was warranted. Maybe this is just being 3 or 4, but I’d seen all our friends’ children be ready and willing to speak up, bicker, and even throw hands if necessary. I imagine he feels a lot like I did in the face of conflict: dwarfed, intimidated, and just wanting it to end more than wanting it to be made right.
His teacher assured me it was fine for him to bring any conflicts to her until he got older and a little more confident, and said we should instruct him to do just that. And there I had it — something really life-changing his teacher could help me get across to him that my husband and I just haven’t been able to communicate the right way yet.
I had seen all the fruits of her labor throughout the school year: the easy way our son began counting to 200 by ones, fives, and tens, the songs about friendship he’d sing to himself as he played, and the confidence to get up on stage and perform a traditional Mexican hat dance with his classmates for the school’s heritage night (yes, it was precious). It hadn’t yet occurred to me that his teacher was also willing to coach him through some equally important life lessons, like how to work out a conflict with his classmates, speak up, or ask for help.
We’re lucky that at our son’s Montessori school, they have the same teacher from ages 3 to 5. His teacher, already well-versed in his strengths and hurdles, has two more years with him. He grew so much in his first year, and I could never have imagined how much he would learn. I know that when he walks out of his second year in her classroom, he’ll be unrecognizable in more new and wonderful ways. Maybe he’ll have neater handwriting, color entirely inside the lines, or even be starting to read. But honestly, my biggest hope is that he’ll know it’s OK to ask for help, say no, and talk to his friends about hard things. Knowing we’ll get to watch the slow bloom of his confidence, to me, is just as much a part of the magic of a new school year.
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Navigating friendships, asking for help, not knowing what you’re getting for lunch and eating it anyway… this stuff matters, too. by Katie McPherson
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