The Confession

Since September my son has been going to a pre-K class.  We decided that he needed to develop some skills in the social behavior area.  You know, like sitting, doing work, sharing with others.  He is so active that it is hard for him to stay focused.  If we could only harness his energy.

His school is out of a Foursquare church in the town eight miles away.  It is a small class of seven children in the late fours and early fives age range.  We thought it would be the right size for him.  When I called to inquire about it the teacher said that they learned their numbers, alphabet, math, sound of the consonants and vowels, learning to read small words, some crafts, and the Bible.

 It all sounded good and as I was reciting back to the teacher about what they would be learning, se again emphasized, “I want you to understand that we will be talking about the Bible.”  To which I said, “I am counting on that.”

Even though we would have to pay as it is a private school, the cost is worth it, because we want it to be a good successful experience for him.  And it seems to be working well for him.  He is still quite energetic which at times keeps him from finishing his work.  As his teacher told us, “He has a brilliant mind and his thoughts and creativity are going a mile a minute.  I liken him to a great chemist or physicist who has to remember to stay in the room.”

On the first day, picking him up from school we asked him how it went.  Our five year old said, “Awesome.”  And we knew that was the truth as he has wanted to go to school for about a year and a half. 

So, buddy, did you make any friends?”  “Oh, yes!”  And he proceeded to name off his fellow classmates who all had normal names.  And then he said, “And there is my friend Omelet.”  Even though we live in a community known for its liberalness and interesting characters, we were pretty sure he had gotten the name wrong.  The boy’s name did start with an O, but for the sake of anonymity and for the fun of the story, we’ll just call him Omelet.

I picked my son up from school the other day and was greeted by his words.  “Hi, Omelet hit me in the face.”  And he did have a red mark on his cheek just below the eye. The teacher said,  “Yes, but we are going to sit down and discuss it.”

Teacher:           “I. where is your chair?”

I:                      “Over there.” (pointing to his left)
Teacher:           “And Omelet, where is your chair?”
O:                    “Over there.”  (pointing to the right)
Teacher:           “So, here is where I am having a hard time.  O. if you were sitting in your chair over there, and you I. were sitting in your chair over here, how is it that you could hit him and how is it that you could have gotten hit?  The chairs are pretty far apart.  If you were sitting where you are supposed to be, I can’t understand how you reach him.”

And good old Omelet replied as he outstretched his arms, said, “It was easy, I have really long arms.”  And busted.  Good old Omelet, grinning away with “egg on his face.”