He was in the second grade. The month was October. Our family was moving halfway across the country back to our home state because of my husband's job. This was our fifth move since the boy was born, and his fourth school.
We walked down to the classroom to meet his new teacher a few days before he was to begin school. She was a kind eyed, dark haired, short, jovial woman. She greeted us warmly and bent down just a bit to shake the boy's hand. "My name is Mrs. P. It is very nice to meet you." I felt his other hand tighten around mine and noticed he stepped a bit behind my leg. He's not liking this focused attention so soon, Mrs. P., I thought to myself. "Would you like to come and meet your new classmates," she asked? He shook his head and looked towards the floor. "Ok, then. We will see you on Monday. Enjoy your weekend," she told him. He managed to squeak out an "okay".
The weekend continued, and I never saw an ounce of anxiety from the boy. He seemed to take it all in stride. Monday came, and he awoke early to get himself dressed and his lunch ready for his first day at his new school. He hurried out the door to greet his new bus driver. I relaxed into my chair with a cup of coffee and Good Morning America.
Later that afternoon, when the bus deposited him back on my front porch, I asked him about his day. He said, "It was pretty good. I like my teacher. But Mom, I NEVER want to be the new boy again!"....and that was all he said. We put down roots as a family, and he never had to switch schools again.
Ironic looking back, the one thing he never wanted to be, and yet he ended up giving himself a disease that would pretty much force him to be the "new boy" in rehab after rehab, sober living after sober living , AA meeting after NA meeting after HA meeting. Always the "new boy"...
We walked down to the classroom to meet his new teacher a few days before he was to begin school. She was a kind eyed, dark haired, short, jovial woman. She greeted us warmly and bent down just a bit to shake the boy's hand. "My name is Mrs. P. It is very nice to meet you." I felt his other hand tighten around mine and noticed he stepped a bit behind my leg. He's not liking this focused attention so soon, Mrs. P., I thought to myself. "Would you like to come and meet your new classmates," she asked? He shook his head and looked towards the floor. "Ok, then. We will see you on Monday. Enjoy your weekend," she told him. He managed to squeak out an "okay".
The weekend continued, and I never saw an ounce of anxiety from the boy. He seemed to take it all in stride. Monday came, and he awoke early to get himself dressed and his lunch ready for his first day at his new school. He hurried out the door to greet his new bus driver. I relaxed into my chair with a cup of coffee and Good Morning America.
Later that afternoon, when the bus deposited him back on my front porch, I asked him about his day. He said, "It was pretty good. I like my teacher. But Mom, I NEVER want to be the new boy again!"....and that was all he said. We put down roots as a family, and he never had to switch schools again.
Ironic looking back, the one thing he never wanted to be, and yet he ended up giving himself a disease that would pretty much force him to be the "new boy" in rehab after rehab, sober living after sober living , AA meeting after NA meeting after HA meeting. Always the "new boy"...
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