Meet the Teacher
We recently went to Meet the Teacher Day at Abbie’s preschool. Her first day is tomorrow. As the child transitions into the school years, often leaving home for the first time, these events help ease the tears and anxiety that accompany the occasion, and that’s just from the parents. I imagine it also helps the child.
My biggest fear in unleashing Abbie unto the world is that she’s horribly unprepared. Expectations are low for the deportment and mental dexterity of three-year-olds. That’s good, because I never expect her to listen to anything I say. I’m sure most parents feel the same. Every parent worries their child won’t keep up, but not every parent has a child with a documented speech delay.
When we walked into her new school, I made sure to quiz her on things she knew. What color is that car? How many trees by the door? What’s her name? Bits of knowledge that would assure any eavesdropper that this girl is ready for preschool no matter the limits of her expressive speech and potty skills.
Another family walked behind us: Mother, preschool-age daughter, and younger brother. The mother and daughter were holding an interactive conversation, discussing the new building, wondering what might be inside, and using complete, grammatically correct, intelligible sentences. Abbie could’ve told me her shirt was blue.
Inside the room, I let Abbie roam. She pulled out the toys, rifled through the teacher’s papers, and climbed on the tables. Her expressive speech may be behind, but she’s climbing at a kindergarten level. I talked briefly with the teacher. She seems nice. She’s two years removed from college, and assisted by one aide in a room of at least a dozen three-year-olds. I wish her luck and hope she stays that nice all year.
I waited in the room for 20 minutes while Abbie grew increasingly antsy. I thought the teacher might address the room, but eventually realized that Meet the Teacher was a one-on-one event only. Apparently she wasn’t going to try to address a room of a dozen adults with a dozen toddlers running and screaming underfoot.
While I watched Abbie explore the room, I realized that she was similar to the other children. She played with the same things they did. She ignored me as much as anyone else did. She didn’t talk much, but neither did anybody else. That little girl holding an interactive conversation as I walked in? She was in the four-year-old class. Her younger brother, who barely spoke and screamed in terror when they tried to enter the building, is in Abbie’s class. I think Abbie will fit in okay, just as long as no one complains to much about Abbie not being potty trained.
My biggest fear in unleashing Abbie unto the world is that she’s horribly unprepared. Expectations are low for the deportment and mental dexterity of three-year-olds. That’s good, because I never expect her to listen to anything I say. I’m sure most parents feel the same. Every parent worries their child won’t keep up, but not every parent has a child with a documented speech delay.
When we walked into her new school, I made sure to quiz her on things she knew. What color is that car? How many trees by the door? What’s her name? Bits of knowledge that would assure any eavesdropper that this girl is ready for preschool no matter the limits of her expressive speech and potty skills.
Another family walked behind us: Mother, preschool-age daughter, and younger brother. The mother and daughter were holding an interactive conversation, discussing the new building, wondering what might be inside, and using complete, grammatically correct, intelligible sentences. Abbie could’ve told me her shirt was blue.
Inside the room, I let Abbie roam. She pulled out the toys, rifled through the teacher’s papers, and climbed on the tables. Her expressive speech may be behind, but she’s climbing at a kindergarten level. I talked briefly with the teacher. She seems nice. She’s two years removed from college, and assisted by one aide in a room of at least a dozen three-year-olds. I wish her luck and hope she stays that nice all year.
I waited in the room for 20 minutes while Abbie grew increasingly antsy. I thought the teacher might address the room, but eventually realized that Meet the Teacher was a one-on-one event only. Apparently she wasn’t going to try to address a room of a dozen adults with a dozen toddlers running and screaming underfoot.
While I watched Abbie explore the room, I realized that she was similar to the other children. She played with the same things they did. She ignored me as much as anyone else did. She didn’t talk much, but neither did anybody else. That little girl holding an interactive conversation as I walked in? She was in the four-year-old class. Her younger brother, who barely spoke and screamed in terror when they tried to enter the building, is in Abbie’s class. I think Abbie will fit in okay, just as long as no one complains to much about Abbie not being potty trained.
posted by Matt at
11:30 PM
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