Trust Your Instincts

By Troy Flint

One thing you learn from parenthood is to trust your instincts, especially where your children are concerned. It’s an important lesson if, like me, you’re someone who once prided themselves on being a “rationalist” and considered “analytical” among the highest compliments. Fortunately, time, experience, and children have (belatedly) broadened my view. These days, I place a much higher value on intuition, emotion, creativity, and socialization –in my own life, but even more where my kids where concerned.

So, when I dropped my child off at preschool school one day in December, I knew something had to change. O had been attending this site for about a month on a modified schedule. Only recently had she started full-time, so this was my first opportunity to take her to the new school. We had chosen this preschool on the advice of a friend who recommended it highly. It’s a sought-after school in an affluent area (not ours) and the residents are apparently pretty protective of their local “gem.” When my wife picked up our daughter on her very first day, some of the mothers asked oh so innocently, “Do you live in this neighborhood?” That was the first red flag, but weeks had passed and I’d mostly forgotten about it.  

When we arrived at school that day, I was in danger of running late for a meeting. Still, I felt the need to hang back and observe after I escorted O to the playground, so I went back in the building and watched from a classroom window. No one greeted O when she came on to the playground and she was standing there off to the side of some of the other girls looking lost. No engagement with the other children or with the teachers, who had all the attentiveness and enthusiasm of drug store security guards. Seeing my baby isolated and looking confused and alone had me seething with a mix of anger and despair. I wanted to rush out to the playground and take her home. But wanting to let O find her own way (and for fear of being a Dad-zilla), I restrained myself and watched with silent fury from the shadows for another 10 minutes. I was late for work, but it was worth it for one of the most valuable 10 minutes of my life.

When I got home that day, I told my wife I didn’t think the school was going to work. She had the same feeling and although distressed that O wasn’t fitting in at this school, almost seemed relieved that I had independently arrived at the same conclusion. We had talked about how the teachers seemed distant and unwelcoming. We had noticed the sudden introduction of imaginary friends that seemed to consume much of her time. The sleeping in. The procrastination when it as time to get ready for school. What I’d seen earlier that day tied it all together and confirmed our worst fears.

It didn’t help my state of mind to reflect that O was the only non-white student in the class. Whether or not that was related to her treatment at the school, I couldn’t risk her internalizing that her difference was the reason for being treated less than. One thing I know now (and wished I’d realized in my youth) is that a healthy psyche is far more important than school prestige and academic rigor. And I care A LOT about academic rigor, but it’s not the altar on which I’ll sacrifice my daughter’s confidence and self-esteem.

The decision was made at that point. I dropped O off every other day that week. Stayed and watched just to make sure that first day wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t and the search for a new school began. About a month ago, we found a new preschool. It’s clear on the other side of the town in a neighborhood that’s rarely visited by the families at the old school, A.K.A, The Sunken Place.  No one asks what neighborhood we’re from. There is an arts-based curriculum. The teachers exhibit love, care, and concern. O has made some great new friends and the imaginary ones have mostly exited stage left. She has a bounce in her step on the way to school and we have peace of mind on the way to work. There’s never been better confirmation of my evolving approach to life and parenthood.

Photo by Steve Smith