My previously angelic (at school) kindergartener came home today with a note from his teacher. The librarian had to "speak to" Ezra about his use of "inappropriate language."
Even though I had hoped that Ezra would loosen up enough to misbehave every once in a while, and even though I had hoped he would finally break through his shyness and be so engaged with a classmate that the conversation just couldn't stop even after the teacher had warned them twice about whispering, I got a little panicky.
The following questions screamed through my head simultaneously:
What has happened to my son? Is he turning into a derelict? Is his diet of three baby carrots a day causing him to lose all sense of judgment? Is peer pressure getting the better of him? Do I need to bring him to a doctor? If yes, what doctor would that be? Is he never going to get into Harvard?
And then this: What was the "inappropriate language"?
I asked him what it was that he had said in the library, but he wouldn't tell me.
"I don't remember," he said, looking at the ground.
"Was it a bathroom word?"
"No."
"Was it a body word?"
"No."
"Well, what was it, Ezra? I'm not mad at you, really. Everyone gets into trouble every once in a while. I just need to know so we can talk about why it wasn't okay to say it in the library."
"I told you, I don't remember."
"Is it a word we use sometimes at home?"
"No, it was a new word. It was a long word. Justin said it and then I said it and then he told me it was a bad word."
"Well, what does it mean?"
"I don't know."
Clitoris? I'm thinking. Fellatio?
I switched tacks for a minute, because even in my infinite insanity I recognized that this wasn't the most productive line of questioning.
"What happened when the librarian talked to you?"
"She put me in a time out. And I'm not allowed to take out a book from the library until next time."
He was on the verge of tears at that point, and I think that, not to blame the victim or anything, part of what upset me so much about the teacher's note was that there was no mischievous joy about the incident--even before I started peppering him with questions. It seemed like his own sense of his behavior was that he was doing something not playful but ugly.
Still, I was dying to know what he had said.
"Was it 'shit,' Ezra? Was it 'fuck'?"
"No, Mommy," he said, rolling his eyes, exasperated. "I already told you, it wasn't a word we use at home."
Thursday, November 1, 2007
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3 comments:
What was it?? I'm dyin' over here!
AHAHAHAHAHHAHAH I can't help but crack up!! Our curiousity kills us doesnt it? And the way this story has been retold it makes it sound like the teacher things Ezra is a little drunken sailor saying all kinds of delicious words lol
oh my god, you killed me with that last line. we are a pair, you and me.
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