Our son began Belgian Kindgarten on Monday, it's their equivalent of pre-school. He was ready to go to school in the morning, he let me wash his face and brush his teeth without all the theatrics that usually go along with those tasks. He even let me spike his hair! No problems going into class, he was ready to play and meet new friends.
When I went to pick him up, he was playing just fine. We got his lunchbox and backpack and left for the day. I asked him how his day was. He told me, "It was bad. The teacher messed up my hair." OK, I'll ask something else. "How was everything else? Did you get to play outside?" "No, I didn't." "Tell me something good about school today." "The teacher messed up my hair and I don't speak French." Well, gee, that is a problem, I thought. I figured that school would finally be the time and place that he realized that no everyone spoke the same language as he does, as we do. Both my husband and I have talked to him about this. When we're in the store, or on the train and he starts talking to random people and kids, and they just look at him and us. They're not understanding. He hasn't picked up on that, until school.
Today was the second day of school, and it went better. He told me that he doesn't speak French, but that's ok for now. He also had gymnastics today. That was a big hit. Now, if only the teacher could stay on her schedule and get them outside for recess, he might be a happier boy.
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