Guest Post: The New Kid
I asked Blake Eligh, blogger for the Food Network and freelance writer to step in for me today as I am enjoying the sometimes soggy end of summer. I'll be back on Monday.
Hi, I’m Blake and I’m filling in for Emma as she reclines on a dock somewhere in cottage country, drinking wine and flipping through a magazine. Actually, she’s probably cooking something amazing, snickering about her daughter’s potty mouth, or plotting another wickedly witty post. That’s why I like her. {and same goes for you Blake.}
I write, mostly about food and kids. You can find my new weekly Cooking with Kids column over at the Food Network Canada site, where I chronicle my messy adventures in the kitchen with my wee daughters. But with school coming up my thoughts turned to starting off as a new kid in a very old school.
The New Kid
My four-year-old daughter Alice heads to junior kindergarten in September and I am readying myself for a new phase in her life, and mine.
School is nothing new for her—Alice’s old daycare was in the same primary school where her dad teaches Grade 5. Despite this, and our low-key talking up of kindergarten, Alice has declared that she’s not going. And also, that she’s no longer friends with anyone who has “brown hair.” I should point out that Alice, who is blond, is an anomaly in our brunette family and her circle of friends. I’ve let both matters drop for now because she’s 4, and fickle, and will likely change her mind by lunchtime tomorrow.
But her comments got me thinking about kids and school and friendship.
When I was in Grade 3, my parents moved from the ‘burbs to a country house outside a rural town. I went from a 400-kid primary school, to an 87-kid country school on the edge of a cornfield. The other kids already had times tables down cold. Our teacher read Bible stories after announcements. And it was the middle of the school year, which everyone knows is the perfect time for making friends.
But something happened my first day that shaped me forever. There was no desk, so I sat at a table beside the class. As I tried to decipher the multiplication lesson and stuff down my embarrassment and fear, I heard a stage whisper from over my shoulder. I turned to see a girl with a giant grin on her face leaning halfway out of her desk. “Hey,” she whispered again. “Ya wanna be friends?” Did I ever. Aruti brought me into her circle and I never looked back.
Her gracious offer amazes me still. Aruti knew something about standing out—she was the only brown face in a small field of freckle-faced Century Farm offspring. Our little class was cliquey, but Aruti was the one who moved easily between the in-crowd and the outcasts, and always took time to play with the two or three girls who were never ‘in.’ She never made a big deal about it—she just did it, and noone ever challenged her.
Aruti’s a whipsmart lawyer now, practicing family law. I like to think her gorgeous smile and friendly manner eases things for kids and parents enduring heartbreak and stress, and that she’s still sticking up for the little guys.
I channel Aruti when I’m at a party and don’t know anyone. I invoke her name as I try to set a nervous source at ease. She whispers in my ear when a stranger asks directions.
Knowing her taught me about generosity, tolerance and friendship—lessons I hope to pass to my own daughters. We’re starting with brown hair.
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