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During last July’s 5.8 earthquake, 3-year-old Bronwyn told her 1-year-old sister, “We’re going for a wiggle.” READ MORE
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He cannot recite the months of the year, nor can he tell you the days of the week. If you ask him a question, he may not answer it right away. He may not, in fact, answer it at all. He plays intently, but the games are games of his own devising, played in his own space, while the other kids are playing other games. This, I am told, is called parallel play, and my son, who is 4, should be beyond it. So I’m told. We recently got our boy’s first report card, and the child described in it vaguely resembles the one we know. It was, at least, pointed out that he is sharing and loving, eager to split a cookie or offer a hug. Beyond that there were formidable rumblings about his “failure to make connections” and “tendency to keep to himself.” My son loves the Beatles but has no particular interest in Spider-Man. He doesn’t much care for TV. He would rather be out for a walk than laboring through counting exercises on the LeapFrog. At his gymnastics class, the children do a stretching exercise in which they are to put a foot to the ear and speak on the “foot-phone.” “Who are you talking to?” the instructor asks each child. “Nemo!” they answer. “Tarzan!” they answer. They speak to SpongeBob on the foot-phone. They speak to Batman. “And who are you speaking to?” the instructor asks my son. “Shelby,” he says. The instructor shrugs. The children shrug. “Shelby is his cousin,” my wife explains. The report card we got says that our son “appears to be awkward” on the playground. I play basketball with him about three times a week. He can make a shot on a full-height basket with a full-size ball. I couldn’t do that till I was 6. He can dribble well at a near-sprint with either hand. I know plenty of adults who can’t do that. We also play soccer from time to time. He dribbles pretty well with his feet, too. But if you read his report card, you’d think the only thing he dribbles with is his mouth. At our parent conference, I thanked his teachers for their observations for their watchfulness and honesty and compassion. I told them I thought our son’s problem was very likely anxiety social anxiety, separation anxiety, anxiety about participating in an environment he could not control. The teachers told me to have him assessed for developmental problems. That night we took our son to a college basketball game. He cheered his heart out for the home team, chanted for better defense. He gave high-fives to every neighbor who offered a hand. Greg Blake Miller writes from Las Vegas. For Letters: ocfamily.com |
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