Dead
All the kids in Daisy's preschool class have now been introduced to the concept of death, as their guinea pig Cupcake died a few months ago (that is, if they weren't already familiar with the concept--some of them might have been). On the day poor Cupcake died, I went to pick up Daisy and a herd of kids came running up to me to tell me about the guinea pig's demise and how he was now under a rock in the front yard. Unfortunately, the tears started coming to my eyes (subtly, I hope) and thus I appeared to be more upset than many of the kids... nice.
There is an adorable little boy in Daisy's class who is often in the book nook in the mornings, too. He kind of reminds me of her: very serious, lots of questions, and a book lover. Apparently, he has been asking a million questions about death since the guinea pig died. The teachers did a St. Patrick's Day presentation, and this little boy raised his hand to ask right off the bat, "Is St. Patrick dead?" This morning I read him and Daisy an Indian story (the tale of Babaji) in which tigers grab hold of each other's tails, race in a circle, go faster and faster, and finally melt into butter, which the family eats on a big pile of pancakes.
Cute Boy: Does that mean they were dead?
Othe clasmate: Yes, they are dead.
Daisy: No! No, they are not dead!
Helpful Classmate: They just melted.
Cute Boy: But they can't talk anymore, or move. I think they died.
I tell you, it is really something to look into these children's sweet faces and serious eyes and try to answer their questions about death.
After that, something kind of upsetting happened. Daisy saw her friend Gigi arrive, and she jumped up in great excitement and started walking quickly--not really running, but walking quickly--across the room to greet her. I saw from where I was sitting an older woman intervene and say something to her. I couldn't hear what the woman said, and I'm not sure who she was--a parent or grandparent, I assume--but Daisy turned right around and walked back over to where I was without greeting her friend. I didn't think much of it, but when it came time to say goodbye, Daisy burst into tears. This NEVER happens. She was really sobbing and saying, "I don't want to be at school today," tons of tears pouring down. At first I was completely stunned, but then it occurred to me that this was related to whatever happened with that woman. Daisy had been in a great mood, rushing over to see her friend, and then something changed. I asked her to tell me what the woman said to her but she repeated, "I don't want to tell you, I don't want to tell you!"
Jolanta, our wonderful teacher, came over and offered to read Daisy a book, which helped. Daisy said, "That's a great idea!" and started wiping her tears away, making an effort to stop crying. Jolanta told her to go get a book, and I heard Daisy asking her friend Gigi to join them. I was able to leave.
But I can't stop thinking... uh-oh. She is going to be sensitive, like I was. I remember that a cross word from an adult could cause me major distress when I was a little kid. I was very sensitive to tone of voice, too, so even if the words weren't overtly mean, if a a harsh tone was used, I was upset. Seems like maybe my daughter is going to be the same way.
There is an adorable little boy in Daisy's class who is often in the book nook in the mornings, too. He kind of reminds me of her: very serious, lots of questions, and a book lover. Apparently, he has been asking a million questions about death since the guinea pig died. The teachers did a St. Patrick's Day presentation, and this little boy raised his hand to ask right off the bat, "Is St. Patrick dead?" This morning I read him and Daisy an Indian story (the tale of Babaji) in which tigers grab hold of each other's tails, race in a circle, go faster and faster, and finally melt into butter, which the family eats on a big pile of pancakes.
Cute Boy: Does that mean they were dead?
Othe clasmate: Yes, they are dead.
Daisy: No! No, they are not dead!
Helpful Classmate: They just melted.
Cute Boy: But they can't talk anymore, or move. I think they died.
I tell you, it is really something to look into these children's sweet faces and serious eyes and try to answer their questions about death.
After that, something kind of upsetting happened. Daisy saw her friend Gigi arrive, and she jumped up in great excitement and started walking quickly--not really running, but walking quickly--across the room to greet her. I saw from where I was sitting an older woman intervene and say something to her. I couldn't hear what the woman said, and I'm not sure who she was--a parent or grandparent, I assume--but Daisy turned right around and walked back over to where I was without greeting her friend. I didn't think much of it, but when it came time to say goodbye, Daisy burst into tears. This NEVER happens. She was really sobbing and saying, "I don't want to be at school today," tons of tears pouring down. At first I was completely stunned, but then it occurred to me that this was related to whatever happened with that woman. Daisy had been in a great mood, rushing over to see her friend, and then something changed. I asked her to tell me what the woman said to her but she repeated, "I don't want to tell you, I don't want to tell you!"
Jolanta, our wonderful teacher, came over and offered to read Daisy a book, which helped. Daisy said, "That's a great idea!" and started wiping her tears away, making an effort to stop crying. Jolanta told her to go get a book, and I heard Daisy asking her friend Gigi to join them. I was able to leave.
But I can't stop thinking... uh-oh. She is going to be sensitive, like I was. I remember that a cross word from an adult could cause me major distress when I was a little kid. I was very sensitive to tone of voice, too, so even if the words weren't overtly mean, if a a harsh tone was used, I was upset. Seems like maybe my daughter is going to be the same way.
posted by Sarah Goss at 9:07 AM
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