Chapter 6 - David and Me

End of August 2010, a week before the new school year

"Do you remember that next week you’re responsible for David?", my spouse Yael asked me, "You take him to nursery school, spend some time with him and be available to pick him up early”. Surprised, I said nothing. “How embarrassing”, I thought to myself, “I forgot all about it”.

David, our two year old son, was about to go to nursery for the first time. For Yael, my spouse and a teacher, the back-to-school season is her most intense period of the year. So taking David to nursery school was on me. Several weeks ago Yael advised I should work half days, leave the mornings empty and spend some time with David in the mornings. Also, I should be available to pick him up early in case he has difficulties adapting to the change.

One week to go, my calendar was packed, it always is. If I have a free moment, I immediately fill it with something productive, never leaving space for idle time. What shall I do? I can’t just drop him off and run, and there's no way I can waive this off. “I'll manage”, I thought to myself, “I’ll postpone a few meetings, start at 10:00, and compensate for the missed hours by staying late at work”.

On opening day the nursery bustled with toddlers and parents. I found a clear spot, a few toys, and played with David to acclimatize. Occasionally I checked the dials on the wall clock, calculating when I should leave to reach the office on time. “Need to hurry”, I thought.

Being together and playing was great fun, but it didn’t seem to prepare David to our soon to come parting. Time flew by and I became uptight, I had to go. I signaled to the nursery owner and she quickly came into play. A warm, loving woman and experienced in such circumstances, she collected David in her arms and motioned for me to go. It was comforting to know David was in good hands. But David instantly understood what was happening and burst into bitter tears. It was heartbreaking. I felt awful, my whole body convulsed. I felt I had no choice but to cut away. I hurried to the car.

On the street I paused for a moment to listen to the sounds from the nursery. David's crying was heartbreaking, I felt my eyes welling and my stomach twisting with guilt. "That’s life" I excused myself, "He’ll have to learn to deal with it’s hardships. It’s his learning experience."

A little bird in my heart doubt my reasoning, and a little doubt can go a long way...

Three years later ... end of August 2013

Three years have passed since the summer of 2010. Three years of awakening, of observation, of questioning. Three fascinating years of transformation.
David was now five years old and ready for kindergarten.
I was now self-employed and owned my time.

I devoted the week to David. I planned it so any other tasks could be carried out in accordance to his acclimatization. No pressing commitments, no fires to fight, no drama.

On opening day the kindergarten bustled with children and parents. It was a new community and everyone was strange to us. David and I played and adapted to the space. In another room the teachers arranged the little chairs in a large circle, preparing for the morning session. I prepared David that soon the parents will be asked to leave.

At the appointed time the teacher asked us to leave. The parents parted and left silently as the children entered the other room and joined the circle. The glass door between the spaces was closed and the morning session began. Some parents stayed a few moments to watch through the glass before going about their business. I stood watching in amazement. The children were all seated and listening to the teacher attentively. There was no weeping, no wailing. All except David.

He clinged to my legs, grasping them tightly, his eyes watering and demanding we go home. I tried to comfort David, to reassert his difficulties, to be empathic - all in vain. The minutes went by and we were at a standstill.

I tried to make eye contact with the teacher or one of her helpers beyond the glass door. They were fully engaged in the session, overlooking David’s absence. No help - this time it was just between  David and me.

My thoughts ran: How is it that all the children adapt so easily, except for my son? What does it reflect about me as his father? About his upbringing?

I was determined that David enter the kindergarten and acclimatize like everyone else. David wanted to go home. We were in conflict.

My recent years’ experiences taught me to always forge relationships before results. In this case, my relationship with David. To put relationships before results meant to pause and set aside my desire that David enter the kindergarten. Instead I should consider the lifelong relationship I want to have with my son and question:
If I impose my intentions on David, what sort of a relationship am I forging?
Does it correlate with the father I want to be? What father do I want to be?

As David stood his ground and wept, I took a deep breath and remembered the father I want to be; Loving, attentive, compassionate, yet able to set clear boundaries. I want to be an empowering father, to lead by example and to have mutual respect. How would such a father respond to this situation?  

My thoughts drifted to my first day in second grade at a public school in Philadelphia. Our family relocated to the USA for three years due to my father’s studies. I’ll never forget that first day at school. A new country, new language, new culture, new school, new people. Everything was foreign. It was stunning and incomprehensible. I have a vivid memory of being dragged to class down a school corridor by a strange adult. I’m on the ground screaming and crying helplessly, refusing to cooperate. I remember the people standing along the corridor, looking down at the crybaby being pulled at their feet. It was humiliating. I was alone, no mother, no father. Apparently it happened after they left.

I was at a loss, I didn’t know what to do. I felt stuck in a deadlock. I told David I’m going outside for some fresh air, he can do whatever he wants.

I sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. David followed me out and sat near me. We were side-by-side, almost at eye level, as equals. It occurred to me to share my memory with David, and as I did, he listened attentively. His focus shifted from his own problems to my story and he calmed down. I told him how difficult it was for me and how I finally got used to the new environment and made new friends. David showed interest, we developed a conversation and he concluded,"Dad, I think it is harder in Israel".

Then David came up with a proposal. "Dad, I'll go to kindergarten, you wait for me outside and we’ll go home at the first break." I agreed to wait outside and that we would reassess the situation during the first break. My offer was accepted, we had an agreement. David stood up and walked confidently into the kindergarten. I watched excitedly from behind, following his small footsteps and adoring the cute nape of his neck. He did not turn to look back and entered with determination.

I was elated, proud of David, the hero who conquered his fears and entered the kindergarten of his own will. I was proud of myself, for I have found patience, attentiveness and sensitivity. I was proud of my journey and thankful for its fruits.

Chapter - 7