30 August 2004 - Nicky's First Day of School Redux

One day about a month ago, I let the kids stay up until 11:30 p.m., just to see if they would actually sleep past 6:00 a.m. They didn't.

It doesn't matter if they go to bed at 7:00 p.m. or 11:30 p.m., they still wake up around 5:30 or 6:00. Very occasionally, Zack will wake up really early, but on those days he's willing to go back to bed. Between when they wake up and 7:00 a.m., we have quiet time -- that is, they're supposed to play quietly while Papa gets a little more sleep.

I've never once had to roust them out of bed ... until this morning.

Yep, on Nicky's first day of school, both boys were sound asleep at 7:10 a.m. I got up to use the bathroom, glanced at the clock, and shrieked in dismay. I hadn't set an alarm -- why would I? -- I have two alarms who have been very faithful about never letting me sleep in.

I ran into the boys' room, flipped on the light, and say "Good morning!" cheerfully.

Zack pulled the covers over his head and moaned. Nicky pried his eyes open, glared at me, and said, "Go away."

Why, today of all days, would they want to sleep in? Why not yesterday? Why not tomorrow? My only chance to get some extra sleep until they're teenagers, and bingo, it had to be today. I wrestled them out of bed, got them dressed, and force-fed them breakfast. Twenty minutes later, we were in the car heading out.

Zack was smug and chipper about going to Uncle Steve's. Nicky was morose and pouty about going to school. He didn't quite cry when I dropped Zack off, but he curled up in the back seat of the car, buried his head in his hands, and refused to talk or look up.

I walked him to his classroom, sat down on the rug with him and the other kindergartners, and listened to the teacher go through the morning ritual. They sang "Days of the Week" to the tune of the Addams' Family theme song, complete with finger-snapping. The teacher read two books about people who spoke other languages and lived in other places. The class was friendly, and recognized Nicky from the picture I sent them last week. They all said hello and tried to make him feel comfortable.

Nicky was having none of it. He sat on the rug with his legs crossed and his hands tucked under his thighs, only guardedly looking up every now and then. I translated a bit of what the teacher was saying for him, but he wouldn't look at me when I whispered to him. We brought in Ellie, a fifth-grader who speaks Russian, and she sat beside him for a while, too. He wouldn't talk to her, either.

My plan had been to sit on the rug for a few minutes, then fade to the back of the room. If that went well, I'd fade to the hallway. If THAT went well, I'd fade right out the door. Based on how excited Nicky had been last week about school, and how much he enjoyed visiting the classroom before, I figured he'd forget all about me in a few minutes.

No dice.

When I tried fading to a chair about three feet away, he rotated his body so he was facing me (still without actually looking away from his lap), and when I moved to another chair, he rotated again. I felt like a satellite being tracked by ground radar.

Although the other kids kept trying to be friendly, he wouldn't speak to anyone. He eventually started paying attention to the teacher, though, and even met her eyes several times. I faded further back, toward the wall. He glanced at me several times, but kept his attention with the class.

Cool! This was going to work. I slipped out the door and stood in the hallway for a minute. Nothing but silence from inside the classroom. I peeked around the doorframe. He was sitting in a chair at a little table, drawing along with the other kids. (Actually, he was watching them draw while holding his crayon as if it were about to leap out of hand and bite him, but he was SORT OF doing what the other kids were doing.)

I stepped back out of sight. Moments later, he realized I was gone. I heard a quick sob, and moments later he came barrelling through the door. He levitated into my arms from two feet away and clung, tears streaming down his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "It's okay. I'm right here."

He refused to answer.

The ESL teacher and I decided to take him for a walk inside the school, show him other kids in other classrooms, and give him a chance to calm down. The moment he was away from his own class, he stopped crying, walked happily beside me, and started talking to both me and the ESL teacher.

After about ten minutes, during which he earned a sticker for helping the ESL teacher take some books to the library, he was chatting freely with every teacher we met, saying hello and good-bye cheerfully, and exploring everything in sight.

We decided to try him in the classroom again. When we got back to his class, we discovered they were heading off to the art room. In Nicky's school, kids go to special areas for special instruction, and they go in a line. We tried to get Nicky to join the line.

He looked at the other kids dubiously, and allowed himself to stand at the very end of the line beside me. He went back to not talking. The ESL teacher got another boy (who had been especially cheerful, friendly, and outgoing with Nicky earlier), and tried to get Nicky to stand with him.

No dice. Nicky would neither stand beside the other boy, nor stay in line. He wouldn't say anything, either.

As the line headed off toward the art room, Nicky started to cry. I reassured him that I was right there with him, in the same line. I told him it was time to play with the other boys and girls. His quiet little sobs became great tearing gasps. I pulled him aside and knelt beside him.

"What's wrong, Nicky?" I asked. "Tell me."

"Don't want Internat," he moaned.

I picked him up instantly and took him off to the side, letting the line of kids disappear around the corner.

An Internat is an orphanage boarding school. It's the place Nicky would have gone this year if I hadn't adopted him and Zack. Despite the hundreds of times I'd explained that, in America, kids go to school and then come home every day, he thought I was putting him in another orphanage. Being separated from his brother, and having to go to a new orphanage, were the two things he's was the most afraid of in Ukraine. Since then, he's added a new fear -- losing his new father.

Poor kid. I told him we could go home right then, and he stopped crying almost instantly. I found the teacher and explained, and Nicky was composed enough to say good-bye to her and also to the rest of the class. The teacher understood completely that this wasn't just a little kid crying about being left at school. It will take time for him to trust the process, and he'll only believe that he's coming home every day after actually doing it several times.

After we got home, I asked him if he'd had fun at school. He said yes. I asked him if he wanted to go back for another visit on Thursday. He said yes. We went through the whole explanation again about just being in school during the days, not living there, not leaving his father or brother. We looked at the calendar, and put up pictures of the things he'll get to do after school every day. He seemed not only okay with the idea, but excited about going back.

Tomorrow and Wednesday, we have doctor appointments, so we'll try school again on Thursday morning.

Wish us luck!