I almost cried in the office at Aliya’s school this morning. We were waiting for the nurse to arrive so she could check Aliya’s head, and two boys brought another boy in to see the secretary. They said that the lunch lady told them to bring him to the office because he didn’t know where his classroom was.
The secretary was confused. The kid looked like a 3rd- or 4th-grader. How could he not know where his classroom was at this point in the year? She kept asking him questions and finally figured out that he wasn’t enrolled at the school. His mother had dropped him off in front and sent him in without registering him. It made me so sad. He was just sitting there waiting for the principal to figure out what to do with him.
I have a “thing” about being the new kid. When I was little we moved a fair amount, and we were sporadic about Sunday School attendance and didn’t participate in a lot of other activities. I hated the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing the routine or the rules. I was very insecure about it, and it affects me to this day. I’m obsessive about making sure that the kids don’t miss the first practice/meeting for anything – soccer, swimming, skating, etc., and that they start at an early age so they’re not the lone 10-year-old who has never played soccer. My kids don’t seem to share my insecurity – they can walk into a room full of strangers and find a new best friend. I’m really glad.
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