a rugs life

Kindergarten for my daughter has been very different from my own experience.  For instance, one example is that her school assigns homework. Four nights a week she brings home something to do. When I was in kindergarten, the most rigorous learning we did was to sit in a circle and learn songs by heart.

When I first learned about ‘homework in kindergarten’ I was dismayed. I didn’t want my daughter encountering the rigors of scholarship so early in her academic career. There would be plenty of time for serious study when she got older and I wanted kindergarten to be a soft transition from pre-school. So I looked into sending her to other schools. But several compelling factors contributed to this school being the one she ended up at. And homework in kindergarten became a reality.  

Here’s the bizarre fact: when the first few assignments came in, I would feel a small clutch of fear just before I looked at the page. Would I understand it? Would I be able to figure out the answers?

I knew that my child was in kindergarten, but a neurotic part of my brain would still panic in much the same way it would back when they handed out problem sets in programming class (back when I was young and foolish and actually thought I could understand programming). And who does one go to for help in kindergarten? Are there TAs? Study groups?

Thankfully, so far there have been no trick questions. I’ve been able to help her through pretty much everything that they’ve sent home. And even when she doesn’t do the job quite right she still gets a star. In fact, it appears that she pretty much gets a star for handing in anything on her homework.

I would have liked to have gotten a star in programming class.

It was a rainy Sunday and with two squirmy 6 year-olds in the back seat, I was happy to be on my way to KidSpace. Located in a church basement, KidSpace has a gymnasium for running, with balls to throw, tricycles to ride, slides to slide up and down, and so much more. The is no one telling you to use your inside voice and its OK to play dress-up with a princess outfit and a firefighters hat.

But when we pulled up to the church that houses this venerable institution, it was immediately apparent that KidsSpace was cancelled for the day. A dad with his very disapointed toddler turned away from the xeroxed note on the door and explained to me that ‘there was a scheduling problem with the church’.

I sat in the car in the pouring rain and wondered to myself, what next?

Seemingly out of the blue, but probably dug up from ancient memories, came the word ‘bowling’.

Dimly remembering that there was a basement alley behind Davis Square, I called a friend for help. Sitting in front of a computer, the friend was quickly able to locate ‘Sacco’s Bowl Haven’. I made a call on my cell, learned that there were free lanes, and headed over.

Once the shoes are rented and the minimum amount of strings are played, bowling is not cheap. But it was well worth it. Just the experience of being in ‘Bowl Haven’ was worth the trip. The decor was straight out of my childhood, and the wooden lanes had the worn veneer of many polishings.

It was perfect for two fidgety 6-year-olds. It combined the satisfaction of throwing things down a long corridor with the interest of keeping score which they did very well.

As we headed out the door, the sun had gone down and it was dark. Day was done and we’d gotten through a rainy one.

Sometimes that’s all you need to do.

Monday morning begins with the reluctant walk to school. My daughter drags her feet, complaining that she is ‘not feeling well’ and has a ‘cough’. This from an individual who 5 minutes previously was jumping off the couch and making airplane noises. I try to cajole her along, half commiserating, half nudging, assuring her that I, too, would rather be back in bed than on my way to work.

So I prod and cajole, and we slowly go past the house with the stone lions, up the hill with the cement wall, and then over the wooden train bridge.

Once she rounds the last corner and sees the other children gathering in the school yard, some deeply-seated social gene in her begins pumping adrenaline. She scans the crowd, spots a few friends, hollers some barked hellos, and is ready to head into the fray. She can barely take the time to say goodbye to me, planting a wet kiss before running off to her turf, her life, her friends.