Holly and I are parents of two preschoolers this year. Autumn, in her second year, has been humming along making friends in her new class and blending right into her new environment. Peyton, in his first year, has been having a bit of a rough start.
Peyton was not obeying well at school, at least early on. To be more specific, he simply hasn’t transitioned well. For example, when it is gym time, he doesn’t want to switch to play time or story time or whatever. It apparently didn’t make sense to him to cease a perfectly fun activity to merely start another one, even if it might also be fun. It also apparently didn’t matter that it was required. The result was a disruption in the flow of the class.
Peyton really likes school and apparently has big visions and his own lesson plans for each day. Just before the school year started, Peyton was introduced to some Batman episodes. As a result, Peyton arrives at preschool daily and puts on a cape. It seems he feels the need to “stand in” while the real Batman is away fighting crime in Gotham City. It’s not even a real cape, but rather, a green art apron that he swings around backwards. Hence, this heavy apron hangs by a string that mildly chokes him all day — apparently a small price to pay to be caped for the day.
You can imagine how this plays out daily. When they file down the hall, single file, the other classrooms and the office staff don’t look twice anymore at the caped child. When the class sits in a circle for story time, one little boy is making sure his cape is nicely fluffed behind himself (not unlike the attention given to the train of a wedding dress). At Thanksgiving they all dress up as Pilgrim men and women. And fear not, for there will always be one Super-Pilgrim on the scene — just in case.
When we started receiving notes about Peyton’s poor transitions, we had some idea what form it took. We would get bits and pieces of description from the teachers. Of course, we knew that Peyton’s version was not reliable. Then one day, the teachers gave us a clear picture of the problem.
It was class picture day. Group pictures would be taken on this day, and it was the only day to do this. Peyton didn’t want to go to the picture room with his class, yet somehow the teachers coerced him into going. Once there, Peyton felt he had been bamboozled and decided to growl and stomp his foot. And, to top things off, he took his problem to a new level and pulled down the photographer’s backdrop, leaving it in a heap on the floor.
To be fair, we were told he tried to look behind it, and teetering as it was, it tumbled. But we do know it wouldn’t have happened had he been more respectful overall. His cape was about to be clipped.
Well, he missed out on the group photo, as they had to haul him down to the office. Instead of a note, we got a call on the spot this time. Having tried several other “politically correct” disciplinary actions previously, let’s just say that Peyton might have received Morse code on his bottom later that day.
Peyton’s behavior has been drastically improved ever since. He is also happier with school and with himself, as now he is constantly rewarded for good behavior. As a matter of fact, he is now often the first one on task when the teachers call everyone to a new activity. And thank goodness! How precious it would have been to be the only family in America with a child who had been tossed from preschool.
There’s a new super hero in town
One day, a few weeks later, the teachers called everyone to the tape (a horse-shoe shaped tape marking on the floor which the children sit around for story time and such). Peyton was the first one to arrive and take a seat.
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| On this particular day, none of the other children (literally, none) were listening. Peyton (that is, the new and improved Peyton) was solo in compliance. The teachers used several different ways of calling/prompting the students to the tape, but to no avail. After several minutes of not even getting their attention, Peyton suddenly jumped to his feet and in his biggest possible tough voice yelled, “Get your butts on the tape, now!” The room went silent, and all of the students looked over at him, with his cape, his stern face, and pointy little finger aimed at the floor.
The teachers, never wanting to appear laughing at any child, turned their backs to the class. They each managed to hold back any audible laughter but were unable to restrain the facial expressions and tears of laughter. One hid her face with her hands, while the other grabbed a tissue to cover hers. When they turned back to the class, still hiding their faces, the entire class was seated on the tape in silence.
The teachers claim Peyton had never really spoken quite that way before. They also indicated that they knew it wasn’t Holly’s voice they were hearing. The implication was that he was talking like me.
Fine, guilty, as charged.
I do find myself talking to my children and specifically referring to the need for their butt’s to be here or there. I know, I know. I have fallen into the trap of not enforcing obedience the first time, teaching them to only obey the second time when they hear key words (i.e. butt), and know that I am not happy.
Or, is there more here than meets the ear? Could there be an unknown audio capability built into the buttocks that, when called, relays communication to the brain more clearly? It seems to me that boot camp instructors have known about this feature for decades. They’re always letting people know where their butts should be, and when. I don’t know. I’m just putting it out there, you know, just in case a researcher wants to run with it.
I still find it interesting that these kids complied with Peyton’s order to get on the tape. I suppose the “righteous switcheroo” nature of this request, coming from him of all people, just didn’t occur to them fast enough. I’m guessing the cape threw them off. Gee, I wonder what capes and super suits might do for the politicians and their flip-flopping? Ummmm . . . the tights . . . yeah, just forget I mentioned it.
My mother has decided to make a contribution to today’s column. She (so graciously) has bothered to dig up my report card from kindergarten 1973/1974. Here are the comments from my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Moberg:
Brian is immature and emotional. Must continue to improve self-control — tends to be sassy. Has made satisfactory progress although he frequently balks at specific things assigned – feels he can’t do it, but usually can if he tries.
My mother wanted to point out that I was already five when I started kindergarten. Peyton started preschool as a three-year-old.
I would have declined my mother’s input for this column, but somehow I just knew that a letter to the editor would have been all too well received by the editorial staff.
Thanks, Mom. That should be all I need from you for 2005. You’re the best (eyes squinting).
That’s my report from the “Big City”.
Brian in the Big City
Employee #0090698
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