The Littlest Daughter
By Julie Firman
They were a happy family: four Pogue daughters all in the same
school in
different grades. They were talented and friendly girls. The
youngest, Janice,
who was in my class, seemed to be glued to her mother's skirts. The
three older
girls took the bus to school every morning and gaily rushed to
their classrooms,
but Janice was always driven to school by her mother, arriving just
in time for
the kindergarten morning song. Her mother usually stayed around
until Janice
seemed to be content and was involved in some activity and then she
would
tiptoe out. But she would return in time to take Janice home.
One Friday, Janice's mother called and asked for a conference with
me. She
entered in an agitated and fragile way. She almost seemed to wring
her hands
in distress. She said in a too-soft voice, "My husband is going to
Europe on
business for two weeks and he insists that I go with him. I have
tried to explain
over and over that Janice needs me here. But he is equally adamant
that she
will be fine without me so I have no choice; I have to go. I have
told the
babysitter that she is to drive her every morning and watch her
until she is
settled into the classroom. She has explicit instructions about
picking her up
and getting to school early so Janice won't worry. Will you please
give Janice
special attention and help her during this time of our separation?
We have never
been apart a single day since she was born five years ago. She is
so young and
fragile and I want to be sure everything goes well for her."
She stopped for a quick breath, but I stepped in and assured her
that we would
make every effort to support Janice and see that she was happy and
healthy
while her mother was away. I even volunteered to meet Janice at her
car so
she would see a familiar face. Janice's mother thanked me for our
understanding
and reassurance. As she left we talked about the logistics of
watching for Janice
and agreed that it would present some extra effort on my part but
was worth
the time it might take.
Monday morning, anticipating a tearful anxious child, I planned a
special program
of fun and games. I waited outside to greet Janice, but just then
the bus
arrived and not three, but four Pogue girls got off of it. Janice
skipped along
joyfully, yelling "good bye" to her sisters as she ran with two
friends into the
classroom. I walked slowly into the classroom and called Janice
over to ask how
the bus ride went. Impatiently she said, "Oh, I always wanted to
take the bus
with the other kids, but Mother needs to be with me. You see there
won't be
any more babies and so I have to be a baby a little longer. While
she is away,
I'll just ride the bus every day. I am five, you know."
