I am going through something.
Yesterday, I had the end of the year conference at Isaiah's school and his teachers painted a picture of a shy, introverted child who is neither silly nor playful in large groups. They told me he doesn't speak up and lets the other kids take toys he is playing with and that he prefers to play with the younger children in his class.
Not my son...
I echoed again and again.
My son is the boy who sings the loudest at the playground. That impresses other parents with his manners. That I constantly hear from other parents, "He is so advanced"... again and again.
My child sings Bob Marley songs at restaurants.
Counts the Mandarine oranges on his plate.
Wakes up wanting to know what everyone has been doing and reciting his ever-changing breakfast order.
My child is not who you are saying he is.
They mentioned this to me a few months ago and I took him to the doctor. His pediatrician all but called me crazy as Isaiah rattled off the names and colors of the animals painted in the mural on the wall.
He is fine. She stated. I would change his environment.
But, rather than pull him out, I met with his teachers and told them who Isaiah was. I told them how he responded best.
I reminded them he is two years old. He is tall but you cannot forget he is two years old. That he is supposed to repeat sometimes and that he is supposed to get confused over his words. I told them to be patient and not put him on the spot.
Then you will see what I see.
And for awhile, they told me things had changed. That he was responding better.
I thought it was his height, that he was one of the youngest in his class... unbalanced expectations.
Last night, as we listened to them tell the tale of a child who sounded nothing like ours, my husband and I both caught a glance of Isaiah searching for a toy in his classroom's toy basket.
We were listening to his teachers but something made us focus on our son.
Out of the corner of my eye we saw him disdainfully toss a black rag doll out of the way in favor of a white rag doll.
The exact same doll.
I felt like my heart stopped.
My beautiful, curly haired golden boy had made a choice. And suddenly it became clear to me....
He is the only black child in his whole class.
I see color.
Why wouldn't he?
Why wouldn't they?
As I tell him when he spills his milk on purpose or throws his magnetic toys across the room, "That was a sad choice."
This was a sad choice.
This was a sad choice.
Mommy made a sad choice.
As a native of New York, I grew up around EVERYONE. Diversity is something I like best about my hometown of Queens, NY.
Now here I was not only robbing him of any sort of diversity by placing him in an all white school but I was also robbing him a fundamental need to look out into a sea of unfamiliar faces and see some faces that look like his.
Needless to say, I have spent the better part of my work day looking for a new daycare. In addition, I just ordered every children's book with a black child available on Amazon and his own black rag doll.
Am I completely losing it or did I just witness my child's first identity crisis? Have his school time shyness, unresponsiveness and passiveness all been his way of dealing with feeling different?
