The
first grade classroom was quiet as usual when Mrs. Tavashi stood up at the
front to address the class. It was early in the day still. I was sitting on the
left near the front. One aisle over in the front row was Kiralee, who was
probably the smallest student in the class, but talked more to make up for it.
Mrs. Tavashi was sternly lecturing about something I’m sure when a noise
interrupted. An audible squeak, gag and splatter sound. Mrs. Tavashi put her
hand to hear heart dramatically and murmured: “oh my.”
Kiralee had thrown up on the floor.
I
thought she had probably thrown up because she was so little. Back then at the
age of 6 or 7, I made solid and sure conclusions about things however
inaccurate they may have been. And I considered myself an expert on vomiting
since not only had I seen my sister do it all over the backseat of our van, I
myself had succumbed to throwing up before. I wasn’t prone to motion sickness.
I was more the middle of the night type and had twice woken up my parents with
my own incidents.
My dad
urged me to use the family bathroom if I ever needed to barf at night again and
not the master bathroom accessed through their bedroom. It made sense to me
only at night to turn away from the family bathroom just outside my room and walk
all the way to their room. My mom was always reassuring. Before my sister got
carsick she complained of a bellyache and felt terrible. Once she hurled all
over the backseat and started crying my mom gently declared, well there’s your
stomachache.
So I
learned that this potentially scary gastronomic expulsion was a good thing. It
provided relief from pain and discomfort and meant that you were on the mend.
When Kiralee got sick on the classroom’s wooden floor that morning it was a
tribute to Mrs. Tavashi and her classroom management that everyone stayed
seated and calm. Kiralee was sent home but Mrs. Tavashi seemed rattled the rest
of the day. I thought she seemed worried for the poor little girl and so I
followed after my teacher and reassured her.
“Mrs. Tavashi,
she’s going to be okay,” I told her. It didn’t matter to me that she might know
more than me being a 1st grade teacher and everything. The poor
distressed woman didn’t realize that when someone threw up it was a good sign.
Today I think that that the teacher just didn’t appreciate having the
disruption and that may be why she looked a little stressed the rest of the
day.
But I also
reflect back and wonder if Mrs. Tavashi realized what a nice mom I must have
had. There was a reason I went into my parent’s bedroom in the middle of the
night to share the experience of nighttime emesis. Kiralee was a funny little
girl who talked a lot. I may have even believed that barfing on the classroom
floor would cure her of being so chatty. Because if my mom said that throwing
up made you better, than that was truth. I felt I must share it.
It’s
amazing and scary how a parent can create a culture and belief in a child. Even
as a 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Tavashi was able to skillfully create a
culture of respect and obedience. My home had a culture of love and safety. It was
so rich that I took it to school.
Prajna and I
tend to agree on a culture to foster in our home. Even if we don’t always succeed
we try to keep things loving and safe. And I don’t mean safe as in outlet covers
and padded walls. Safe can mean that the kids can mess up or throw up and still
be loved. And I am by no means saying that anyone has found a secret to parenting.
Of all the kids I’ve known throughout my life and kids I’ve worked with in my adult
life, I can see the kids who get that at home. Sometimes the media saturates the public with bad
news of individuals gone bad and wrecking havoc and terror. But it’s encouraging
to know that there still are good families and good kids out there. To a first grader,
barfing on the floor should be the scariest thing imaginable. And you know what?
Sometimes it is.
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