a child's eyes

I've written here before about my enjoyment of seeing the world through my sons' eyes. Until today, this was strictly a privilege. Things were seen fresh- and it was immensely pleasurable. But today I saw the flip side of the phenomenon: I revisited somewhere I never wanted to go again.


'E' is starting kindergarten next week. Today marks his first full week of being done with our in-home daycare provider. His experience at the daycare is something I'll always consider a blessing- but I don't know how prepared he is to be "out there" like he is. Now he's going to a program the Rec Center designed to occupy children after school. It's a cool program with lots of structured options for rec and leisure. They've got swimming, crafts, supervision. They've also got dozens and dozens of kids. Older kids. MUCH OLDER.

We took 'E' earlier this summer to help him get acclimated. He seemed to have a good time there and I was expecting a simple drop off. I was looking forward to it, actually. I don't know what happened...I guess I was just ignorant or really naive. When I took him he became very defensive and anxious once we pulled into the parking lot. I was taken aback.

"I don't want to go here, Dad." He looked at me with real tears in his eyes.

"Why not? This place is awesome- you've been here before."

"Yeah, the kids be'ed mean to me. They called me 'baby' and wouldn't share their toys with me."

How bad could it be? I'll just calm him down and take him inside and make sure everything is kosh before I leave.

"Look, bud, it doesn't matter what kids say to you. You know you aren't a baby. I know you aren't a baby. Who cares what anybody else says."

He looked unconvinced.

"Dude, people say mean things to me ALL THE TIME."

A lock of pure disbelief washed over his face. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. Pretty much every day kids say mean things to me."

"What do you do?" He made eye contact. He was seriously looking to me for an answer.m

"I tell them it doesn't matter what they think because I know it isn't true, and because God knows it isn't true. God knows what is in our hearts and he can tell what we are. Why don't we pray to Jesus to help everybody else see that you are an awesome kid just like we know you are."

So I prayed for us.

Bravely, 'E' donned his "Wolverine" backpack and we went inside together. Once inside, we saw dozens of older children separated into small groups. Most of the boys were playing with Star Wars Legos. They'd brought these toys from home and sharing wasn't really negotiable.

Ha, we'll see how confident they are when faced with a request from an adult! So I approached their group with 'E' in tow. They were probably 2nd-4th graders. 'E' drew back as if he knew I was making a mistake. I noticed the small circle of boys was drawing closer- they had effectively shrunk their circle to prevent anyone else from joining. "Ummmm...cool legos." Well that was a pathetic, transparent attempt to save face.

This sad cycle repeated itself several times. It wasn't long before I was a scared, lonely latch-key kid again. It was like I was reliving experiences from my own childhood. Painful experiences as I was once more powerless to fight the forces of inexplicable rejection. And I could see the look on 'E's face- "you see!?" his eyes barked.

Mercifully, I saw a tupperware container with "house" legos. They weren't Star Wars. They weren't anything fancy at all. But they were all we had. I set up shop in an isolated corner and opened the legos nonchalantly. 'E' sat down beside me and we started playing together. It was less than one minute before another boy came and asked to join us. I made a quiet exit to the car. I sat there and felt tears come to my eyes-I haven't prayed about this day nearly enough.

I wrestled with my next step. Should I go and buy all the Star Wars legos money could buy? Should I take the day off and just lavish love on my little boy? Or should I just go to work and let my son fend for himself? I went to work and prayed anxiously throughout the day.

I called my sister. She confirmed and validated my memories of feeling alone, unprotected and unsafe in our after-school program. But at least we had each other. It's a miracle neither of us was molested, I thought. "How did we ever survive in that program?"

"We were covered in prayer," she answered.

We were covered in prayer. And so my kids will be covered in prayer. It doesn't feel like much sometimes- but I think it's more powerful and more important than we know, too. Those of you who are the praying sort- please feel free to send prayers our direction this week, this month, and this year. There are several transitions going on- and several more upon the horizon.