A Little Scared of Flooding

 

Last Monday when I picked Beckett up from school, he climbed in his booster seat like he was in slow motion, slung his backpack, buckled his seatbelt, and gazed out the window exhaustedly. We exchanged loving pleasantries, and then, like some top-of-the-food-chain predator, like some crocodile with his eyes and nostrils peeking out of the water, like some mother lioness crouched in the tall grass, I attacked:

What did you learn?

How was recess?

What was your favorite part of the day?

No wonder he wants Nathan to pick him up from school.

Despite these best efforts, I got nothing. In fact, very few of his responses contained more than a handful of syllables. 

I don’t remember. Good. All of it. Can I have some gum?

When I was a classroom teacher I used to be mind blown when parents would describe this phenomenon to me. They would sit in parent conferences and ask what their kids were learning, how things were going, who they played with on the playground. I would conduct these magical days in the classroom with storybooks and math games and songs...this spectacular dog-and-pony-show...only for their kids to tell them their day was “fine.” And, now, here I am with my own kid, eating crow that somehow these parents should have been more engaged. I am truly sorry...

After school we drove to the library to get some books for the week, and dear Ms. Donna, the children’s librarian, was there. As so many Outer Banks kids do, Beckett already loves her, and he went to her for some help finding books. 

He told her he wanted hurricane books, because he learned about flooding and was a little nervous since we live at the beach. She extracted a classic Gail Gibbons’ nonfiction on hurricanes from the shelves. They found some superhero books, too, because that’s what they were playing at recess, he added.

After a while we checked out and went home. He unpacked his bookbag and his Scholastic Book Fair haul spilled out, full of Ninjago books with little toys attached, which were great, he said, in case he needed trinkets to swap with his buddy at snack time.

So, truth be told, I’ll probably keep beating that dead carpool horse, but you better believe we read about Hurricanes that night.