warning: emotional rant

I’m in the middle of moving (again). I found a house that’s only a few minutes from my office. The schools are better and kindergarten is full-day instead of half-day. It’s a bit closer to the beach and a much nicer house for the same price. That’s all good, what is not so good is that all three of my children had to start at new schools yesterday. A difficult proposition for anyone. But exponentially harder when one is in sixth grade. Or perhaps exponentially harder for a mom whose experience in middle school was what mine was (or what Aunt Vin’s was).

On our first day yesterday, I was taken aback by just how utterly discourteous the middle school secretary was. She was obtuse and insensitive and just really pretty awful to me and my boy. I had to interrupt her after a bit to ask her who she was, which she seemed put off by. We spent about 10 more minutes with her sighing every time I asked a question (When will he get his schedule? How will he find his classes?), and being plainly rude to the Adolescent Boy (asking him if he’d really signed the I’ve Read the Rules and Won’t Bring Weapons, Soda, Cell Phones, Skateboards or Drugs to School notice, because his handwriting was awfully neat for a boy, while she looked suspiciously at me). I finally stopped her and said, “What’s happening here? Can you imagine what it’s like to be a middle schooler starting a new school, with TWELVE HUNDRED students mid-year? We need to work this out so he has a good experience.” Well, at that point, she just started calling me ma’am and speaking directly the wall beside me.

When I picked him up, at the end of day, yesterday, he was patently stressed, utterly anxiety-ridden. I had to hold my breath while he decompressed. If I’d have crossed my eyes at him or moved my earlobes in an untoward way, he would have just disintegrated into a puddle at my feet. And I couldn’t blame him, because I was like that from the moment he left my sight that morning until he was back with me. So I waited for him to settle back into himself, but also feared that he never would settle all the way back in, because a day in a new middle school matters to the soul of a person. And this morning, I had to send him back into the jaws of the beast that is middle school (and, yes, I know I’m being melodramatic, and I don’t care, so let’s move on). He got out of the car, and I watched him pitch his shoulders back, hook his thumbs in the straps of his backpack, shake the hair out of his eyes and walk back into the fray.

He was never more than a nano-millimeter from my thoughts today. I was willing the other middle schoolers to talk to him, willing him to be able to find his way to his classes, praying and praying that he would find just one person in the twelve hundred to befriend him. And you know what? Thank you, Travis, who spoke to him for three minutes at lunch, it helped, it mattered, and it was important. Thank you, Mrs. Peterson who talked to him, made sure he knew where he was going and got him into a good lunchtime club for Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Why does it have to be this hard? Why can’t schools make this better, somehow? Throughout this process of registering three children for new schools, I interacted with probably fifty people, most of whom seemed to have NEVER done this before. I don’t understand this. I don’t understand why schools don't do more to help new students get in the groove. Now, I know that many of you blog-friends are teachers, and what I’m saying is likely as insensitive as Mrs. Horrible McRudely, school secretary, but please…help me understand.

And yes, I know, I’m being unreasonable. And unreasonably emotional. I understand that I am operating solely from my inner Worried Mom (or perhaps from my inner Wounded Sixth Grader), and not from Rational Adult Partner to School Personnel. I know this, and I DON’T CARE. YES, I want the teachers to baby my children. I want them to hold their hands, ask them if they are okay, to take them to their classes and YES, force some of the other students to be their very best friends. Is that so much to ask?