Flashback
A sunny afternoon -- sunlight is streaming into the classroom in central Tokyo, at the public elementary school right next to Roppongi Hills.
My son`s third-grade teacher is showing me his test scores, and going over his report card with me. I`ve just had Daughter's parent-teacher conference, and I thought her grades and scores were great, but Big Son`s are even better.
"He has the highest math scores in the class, and excellent scores in everything else," he tells me.
Students don`t receive letter grades at this school -- they are graded on a scale of one to three, one being the lowest and three being the highest.
Big Son has almost all three`s.
"He loves to read," the teacher tells me. "He is always challenging other boys to reading contests, to see who can finish the thickest books first."
Big Son turns in all of his homework, some of which he even finishes at school before he goes home.
The teacher's only complaint?
"Sometimes Big Son doesn`t like to play with the rest of the group. If the other boys are playing ball at recess, sometimes he wants to play something else, by himself or with a few friends. He should try to go along more with the group, " the teacher said. This strikes me as a very Japanese concern -- I nod, but I`m secretly glad that my son doesn`t follow the group all the time.
I stand up and thank the teacher, because I have to leave, and get back to my new job, which I absolutely love. I`m the bureau chief of a small dot.com news organization, and although I have a lot of responsibility, I have a lot of freedom and flexibility, too. It is the kind of job I have always dreamed of doing.
As I walk to the door, the teacher calls my name.
I turn around.
"One more thing," he said. "I really enjoy teaching your son. You have a wonderful boy."
And that must be where I wake up, and say, "Ah -- it was all a dream."
But no -- that whole scene really took place, just a couple of years ago.
Hub and I are still married, the whole family is still healthy, and though we`re not rich, we`re still getting by, even though I`m not working anymore.
But I feel as if I sneezed or something, and my whole life fell to pieces, and now all I can do is try to glue the broken bits back together.
What happened?
Where did that happy mother and happy kids go?
My son`s third-grade teacher is showing me his test scores, and going over his report card with me. I`ve just had Daughter's parent-teacher conference, and I thought her grades and scores were great, but Big Son`s are even better.
"He has the highest math scores in the class, and excellent scores in everything else," he tells me.
Students don`t receive letter grades at this school -- they are graded on a scale of one to three, one being the lowest and three being the highest.
Big Son has almost all three`s.
"He loves to read," the teacher tells me. "He is always challenging other boys to reading contests, to see who can finish the thickest books first."
Big Son turns in all of his homework, some of which he even finishes at school before he goes home.
The teacher's only complaint?
"Sometimes Big Son doesn`t like to play with the rest of the group. If the other boys are playing ball at recess, sometimes he wants to play something else, by himself or with a few friends. He should try to go along more with the group, " the teacher said. This strikes me as a very Japanese concern -- I nod, but I`m secretly glad that my son doesn`t follow the group all the time.
I stand up and thank the teacher, because I have to leave, and get back to my new job, which I absolutely love. I`m the bureau chief of a small dot.com news organization, and although I have a lot of responsibility, I have a lot of freedom and flexibility, too. It is the kind of job I have always dreamed of doing.
As I walk to the door, the teacher calls my name.
I turn around.
"One more thing," he said. "I really enjoy teaching your son. You have a wonderful boy."
And that must be where I wake up, and say, "Ah -- it was all a dream."
But no -- that whole scene really took place, just a couple of years ago.
Hub and I are still married, the whole family is still healthy, and though we`re not rich, we`re still getting by, even though I`m not working anymore.
But I feel as if I sneezed or something, and my whole life fell to pieces, and now all I can do is try to glue the broken bits back together.
What happened?
Where did that happy mother and happy kids go?
posted by L. at 11:12 AM
8 Comments:
Oh, boy. There are no easy answers to this one.
The most obvious answer is that your entire family's situation has changed. The kids' entire life changed when you moved to SF from Tokyo. The adjustment for any kid who has to move a great distance and totally change routines and friends and schools is huge, but then add in the culture differences and moving to a different country, and you have a whole new set of issues to add onto the pile.
I know you've given a lot of time and thought to sorting out Big Son's problems, both emotional and school-related, and I don't know him at all, so feel free to ignore me, especially since I'm at the beginning end of the parenting spectrum. Big Son seemed to be deeply emotionally affected after his friend's death in Japan, and that on top of his big move must have left him feeling very unsettled. I would ask him what it would take to get him back to liking school and putting his best efforts into it. It might even be a good discussion for you, him, and Hub to have together. See if he can actually voice what is keeping him from living up to the potential that he so obviously has. And he can't use any excuses like "I just can't do it." He has to tell you WHY he can't. And if he can't do that, then... I don't know. If it was my kid, I would strip down their lives to school only, with no sports or games or extracurricular stuff, until the homework was in hand and grades started improving. But I'm not sure that's the best approach for him. I guess that what the big questions are is: what are his motives and what does he want to accomplish? After answering that, maybe some real solutions can be found.
I truly hope things improve for him, and for you, too.
I wonder the same thing myself. Then that phase passes. It comes and goes like the seasons I guess. We went through a phase that we seem to be on the other side of now. But it's been hell. My daughter has a nervous habit of picking her scabs. She would do it without even realizing it. She has some pretty noticable scars. I took her to the doctor. The doctor said "you know your gonna have scars right? Stop doing it." That was well not really helpful. I tried bribing, hovering and nothing I did made a difference. It was something she had to overcome. She's done remarkably better within the last 6 months. She's been through puberty (which I know was so very stressful for her) and now has a boy she is very fond of. So the picking has subsided for now. It was the hardest thing we both have had to endure so far. I'm sure it won't be the only challenge. But I'm grateful that for now we are at the other end of this phase. That which does not kill us makes us stronger. Sometimes I hate that saying, but it is true most of the time. Sorry for the ramble.
Those happy people are still there - I know because I read about them here a lot, you are all still there and by the way I have found age 10 and up to be a kick in the teeth when it comes to parenting my sons.
I agree with Gawdessness...they're still there!!
FWIW, my brother went through a similar kind of experience when we moved back to the States from Hong Kong - he was 13, and he spoke English, but he went through a really hard adjustment. We all did - we tend to refer to that period as the year from hell, and we sometimes marvel that we all came through it okay - which we did, eventually.
Hang in there...
Seems to me that they went to a foreign land...not so foreign to you, but definately foreign to them. So hard to adjust. I know it took me a long time to adjust to Philadelphia, because it was so different from my beloved San Francisco.
I hear you. None of us are what we were at one time or another. I miss myself too.
Ugh. I'm so sorry. These questions are painful, painful.
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