The First Day....

What is your first memory of your childhood?  A birthday party?  A kiss from a parent?  A trip to somewhere fun?

Or was it a bad experience like being timed-out for the first time?  Losing something or someone dear to you?  

My first memory of my childhood was my first day of school in Peru.  My parents and I had moved from Hong Kong and on the third day after arriving to this foreign, strange land, I was sent to school.

I still remember everything (and this is very odd for me - I'm one of those who remembers almost nothing from my childhood).  I remember my parents trying to explain things to me.  I remember sleeping in my uncle's home after the super long flight on Day 1, and then being pulled to go for back to school shopping on Day 2.  Day 3?  Dad took me to my new school.

It was a huge school.  With strange buildings painted in bright reds and blues.  There were buildings everywhere interspersed with greenery.  Children running everywhere.  Everyone wore those grey uniforms I was so uncomfortable in.  We walked into the Grade 1 area, a separated area much like the Kindergarten area we had to pass, close to the entrance.  It was beside this huge building (the auditorium).  There was a separate recess area there, with 2 large classrooms.

I still remember entering my classroom and the stares I got.  I still remember crying so hard.  I tried to hold onto my tears and tried to be strong and courageous but it was just too much to bear.  I felt abandoned, confused and alone.  I did not understand a single word anyone was saying to me.  I had never seen all these strange Peruvian faces.  And those I felt look similar to me (it was a Peruvian-Chinese school) - the kids with Chinese ancestry, they looked only similar....not the same.

I still remember feeling most of the kids were not nice to me (translation:  no one played with me) but  there was one girl that I remember fondly.  Natalia was a fair skin Chinese girl.  Later in our formative years we would grow close and then apart again as we grow.  But for that first day of school, she was my angel.  I still remember it.  She did not say much - but I felt she noticed me and invited me to sit close to her.  Natalia, if you read this...thank you (you probably don't even remember!)

Recess time was one of the worst.  It was unstructured.  No teachers for me to rely on.  Everyone seemed to know what to do except for me.  And so I started crying hysterically and even lay on the floor.  Yes, I still remember that.

Things just got worse as the days went by.  I hated Grade 1.  I hated school.  I hated my new home.  I hated Peru.

They eventually tried to move me to the other Grade 1 class but the teacher was worse so I cried even harder and eventually they moved me back to my original class.  I think her name was Ms. Juanita.

Eventually, I met my second angel:  a Chinese teacher named Julie.  She spoke a language I understood!  And she seemed to be more like me and my parents!  The minute I found out there were people like me in the school, I tried to stay with her every minute I was there.  But Ms. Julia had to teach class and she gently explained to me I could not stay with her every minute of the day.

I listened and complied sadly.  She told me I had to try to attend class without crying.  She promised she would ask my teacher if it was ok for her to pick me up when she had a break.  And she did as she promised.  She took me to the Chinese teachers' room and I met other Chinese teachers...people I understood.

I continued crying when Ms. Julie was not with me though.  And to this day many of my friends remember...Sandy cried for a full month.  I challenge you - if you are reading this and you were there witnessing this, drop us a note and let me know what you remember!

That was my first day of school in Grade 1.  And as the Lord had it in His plans, this was preparation for my future because I would have to relieved the same thing again, during Grade 10 (from Peru to Canada), and then again in University.

But little did I know I would be reliving this this week.  My son just started his first week in Grade 1.  And as he adjusts, part of me hurts not because I have to witness my son's growth into another stage in life (parts of it will be painful for a while), but because I am taken back to that first memory in my life.

I was not prepared for that.

Yesterday as I dropped off my daughter for her 100 minutes of kindergarten in the middle of the day I found myself for the first time being at my kids' school during recess time.  And yes, I gave in to curiosity and looked for my son in the crowd of kids playing.  It was not hard to find him.  He was standing in the corner alone.  And my heart sank.

But deep inside I struggled to hold back my tears.  So I went back to my car and found myself crying.  At first I wasn't even sure why I was crying...I just felt a slew of emotions overwhelming my capacity to process it all at once.

I used to remember my Grade 1 experience thinking I was much older than what my son looks like now.  I was THAT small?  No wonder I was overwhelmed.  When I see him now I see myself (gulp!)  How can you possibly understand all the changes happening in your family?  How can you possibly process everything?  I was forced to grow up very fast.

I know deep inside my heart Jesus is with my son at school .  And I know my son is strong and will adapt.  But for now, for today, I was seeing him there....alone.  And the heart of a mother who has been with her son for most of his first 6 years (quite literally) ached deeply.  I wanted to rescue him from pain but I knew this was part of growing up and becoming an independent human being.  And it was part of a mother's need to learn to trust in the teachers,  in my own son, and ultimately in the God I profess to believe.  I was reminded to let go. 

But I also think back to that first day and month as a 6 year old myself in Peru.  Oh what experience does to one's perception!  As a mom now I feel the pain my parents, especially my mom must have felt.  They had no choice.  They knew this process was needed for me to adjust to life in Peru.  And they did not know Spanish either.  I still remember going home with my school journal.  And with tears in both of ours eyes, we would try to decipher what my teacher had written.  Back then there were no computers, wikipaedia or google.  My mom did not even have a Chinese-Spanish Dictionary.  She had to read one Spanish word in my journal, look for the translation in English in her Spanish-English Dictionary, and then turn to her English-Chinese Dictionary.

I also think back now to the angels Jesus sent my way not only during Grade 1 but also when I came to Canada in Grade 10 and then again to University.  There was always someone there.  Jesus will send a Ms. Julie or a Natalia to my son.  Actually, I believe they are there already.

I think of the many times I've reached out to immigrant students, as a student but also as an adult - perhaps all this personal experience was because God was calling people like us to feel more...to understand, and to reach out to others.  But now it's time for me to extend that challenge to myself as a mother - how about as a mother?  Have I become indifferent to what parents, and especially moms, go through during this time?  I hope not.

So I find myself now thinking of all the immigrant families in Canada who are going through first week of school this week.  Nothing is familiar.   Everything is new.  The school set up is so foreign.  Agendas?  what are those?  What do you need to bring to school?  Nut-free environment?  What does that mean?  Recess for 40 minutes?  No need to buy textbooks?  Where is your homework?

People talk about back to school time being stressful for some kids - and that is how I've seen it for almost 40 years of my life...until this week.  This is a very hard week emotionally for me, the mom.  But it is surprisingly becoming an opportunity for me to remember my roots, my first memories.  Not because I need to feel the pain again, but because it helps me appreciate where I am now, as a parent of another generation going to Grade 1 and of those surrounding me.

Maybe I can be that angel to another aching parent watching on the side.  Maybe I can pray for those angels at school whether they are 5 or 45, to reach out to others by simple gestures that mean so much - guide a lost classmate to his room, explain to a boy or girl what a library is, or simply to pay extra attention to a crying child who is not only missing home but needing a friend.

And back to my son.  He will be fine - he is in good hands.  And my job?  To continue to pray for not only him, but his classmates, his teachers, and his principle.  And to continue to journey with him.  Yesterday (the day I saw him alone) at pick up I asked him how was his day.  He said "great".  "Did you cry?" I asked, curious.  "Oh yeah, during recess" - he matter-of-factly replies.  "Why?" - the incessant mother continues.  "Oh, because there were so many children and I could not find my teacher"...

Relief in my heart -

It is just a phase :D

My son's second day in school - first day was too wet outside to go through the drill of lining up at bell

Yes, this is me...at about 8 years old - the hideous grey uniform :D