Thursday, January 16, 2014
To My Son's Teacher: I Sincerely Apologize
This morning Timothy gets up, eats breakfast, and waits until we get to school to announce that his stomach hurts.
For a mom, this is one of those decisive-take-action-moments.
No it isn't. I don't have enough to go on. A stomach ache is too vague when there are no other underlying symptoms. So I resort to the tactic of let's-try-it-and-see-what-happens.
I drop him off at 8:50 a.m. and I get a call from the school nurse at 8:55 a.m. telling me Timothy's stomach hurts.
Okay then. Back I went. Later, on the drive home -- this time with Timothy -- he enlightens me on what happened in the 55 minutes since I last saw him.
"I threw up," he announces.
"You threw up?" I say. "The nurse didn't tell me you threw up."
"That's because I threw up after I left Mrs. Jackson's office." he explains. "I went back to the classroom to get my backpack, and then I ran to Mrs. Bosch's desk and told her I was going to throw up. And I did. Right next to her desk in her trash can."
Oh dear Lord, I think.
And here is where my apology comes in because in telling the story ... he sounds inordinately proud. Like it was a rite of passage. Like throwing up near the teacher's desk is cool. Like grossing out the entire class is funny.
So I bring him home, tuck him on the couch with water and saltines, and tell him the story of when I was in third grade and threw up in the principal's office.
My son is way beyond impressed, and now I am the one inordinately proud. I mean, can you imagine? The principal's office.