Chapter 2
When the leaves began to turn crisp and orange,
Finn started his first year of kindergarten,
which felt like a massive milestone for all of us.
He walked into the classroom on the first day,
wearing a backpack that was nearly as big as he was,
and carrying a painted rock he wanted to show the teacher.
His teacher was a stern woman,
who valued quiet voices,
and perfectly straight lines above all else.
Within the first two weeks,
she sent home three notes about Finn,
describing him as overly enthusiastic,
and easily distracted during circle time.
The old version of me would have panicked,
apologizing profusely to the teacher,
and begging Finn to shrink himself down.
Instead,
I folded the third note,
placed it in my purse,
and scheduled a meeting for the following morning.
Grant offered to come with me,
but I told him I needed to do this myself,
to prove to myself that my new spine would hold.
I sat in the tiny wooden chair across from the teacher,
listening politely as she outlined her concerns,
and waiting for her to finish speaking.
When she finally paused,
I looked her directly in the eyes,
and told her that Finn was four years old,
with a heart full of curiosity.
I explained that his enthusiasm was not a behavioral flaw,
but a developmental stage,
and that I expected him to be guided,
not crushed into submission.
The teacher blinked in surprise,
clearly accustomed to parents who immediately capitulated,
or who shrank under her academic authority.
She shifted in her seat,
and her tone became noticeably more collaborative,
as we discussed ways to channel his energy.
I left the school feeling a strange,
soaring sense of victory.
I had not raised my voice,
but I had not lowered my standards,
and I had protected my son's right to take up space.
When I told my mother about the meeting later that day,
she looked at me with a mixture of awe,
and a deep,
lingering regret.
She whispered that she wished she had been that brave,
when Maris and I were young,
instead of letting the world dictate our worth.
I held her hand across the table,
telling her that we could not change the past,
but we were actively rewriting the future.
Finn came home that afternoon,
proudly holding a drawing of a rocket ship,
and completely unaware of the battle fought for his spirit.
He was safe,
May you like
he was loud,
and he was entirely himself.
