Struggles of a Six-year-old Boy

Something weird I dug up from the depths of my hard drive. It was written for a child development class a few years ago. I made me laugh so here it is. I think I passed the assignment.

Struggles of a Six-year-old Boy: A Personal Development Essay

If you asked a group of adults their first experience in the educational system. The majority of individuals would soon begin to rant and rave of their “First” day of school. The unspeakable horror of being lost. The lingering thoughts of this sudden abandonment. Proposing questions and reasons behind your parent’s decision to leave you. It would appear all thoughts continuously frame that first day, as a negative experience.  The very same can be said for myself and that may have very well changed, had mother and father simply kept the child home, or perhaps remained present for that first day. In short, the bulk of the responsibility could be given to the parents. However, what if one was to examine the variables in the new environment a child was subjected to? Perhaps that would be the true reasoning behind a negative experience. In my case, my biggest challenge was assimilating and attempting to cope with the new properties that occupied the first day of the first grade.

            It was my first day. I was not afraid of this new place, nor was I questioning; I simply observed all things new. Plots of grass parted by walkways. Brick buildings, whose windows were filled with colorful paper. The sound of her heels on concrete. My mother’s hand paired with mine as we walked on this new beat. I can recall her voice, not the words spoken only the tone: which seemed warm. She appeared happy and excited for me. With a continuous stream of questions, I only perceived as a warm noise. All in all, my experience so far appeared to be a rather pleasant one. Due to my mother’s following of the first six characteristic of a caregiver showcased in David R. Shaffer and Katherine Kipp’s 9^th edition of Developmental Psychology: Childhood and Adolescence (400). My Mother ensured that a secure attachment kept her and I bonded. Though every moment of that safe sense of discovery, of a safe guarded experience with her presence, was obliterated by the intrusion of another sound and of a new environment- Ms. Amy’s classroom.

            The luscious greens; were replaced by a brutal amount of white. That calming gloom, dissolved by blinding fluorescent lights. My mother’s voice, deafened by the chattering of children. What I was experiencing can only be attributed an invasion of my microsystem (535). As my mother met me at eye level and hugged be, the cruel concept of my being here had become corporeal.  I was left in this new mesosystem (535). It used to be rather simple; home, movies, market, and homes of different family members. Now I was expected to willingly accept this new institution as a part of my life. Forced into taking up the challenge of developing a stronger sense of camaraderie amongst peers of the same age and of the same sentencing. Surely, I could at least adapt to the situation? Surely, I could gather the strength for an undertaking? No, my sense sociability was quite absent this day (569).

However, “Perhaps it would not be permanent?” I thought. In no time at all, my dear mother would swiftly take charge against my captors, freeing me. Making heartfelt apologies for every second spent in that horror. What was she thinking: did my mother know that she had left her prince amongst the commoners? Was she not aware that I, her son, would now fend for myself in this foreign land? Allowing for the possibilities of famine, of pestilence-of death!? Had she attempted to rewrite her wrongs, I would have shown nothing but forgiveness. But she did not come. There was no riding off into the sunset or great escape. I was still here, alone, and uncertain. What I was attempting to do was develop a sense of balance and comfort myself with the idea of my mother’s return. Ultimately, I was trying to allow for cognitive equilibrium stabilization in order to deal with this upsetting institution (202).

What appeared to be a shocking inconvenience would proceed to grow…into an even larger feeling…of inconvenience. Soon after being introduced to the little strangers in the room, I was asked take an open seat. This would become the first decision in my life that I would regret. For the person that resided at the neighboring desk, would not stop talking- about SeaWorld. On and on he went about the shows, the fish, and the flim flammin’ memorabilia. I had only heard tales of this SeaWorld. But upon meeting this young child (who wore a seas world shirt), I had developed a loathing for him and of this dreadful world of aquatic life. I did not enjoy the idea of having peers (572), why should I? For the first six years of my life the only life I knew within my Mesosystem were my family and my weekly routine. As far as I was concerned these “fellow” peers of mine were fellow patients in Arkham (O’Neil Batman #258). Soon the children would go on, and on, and on, in full synchronization around the entire room talking and talking. I had never heard so much conversation in my life.

For the better part of my six year lifespan I had only my family and my television to hold conversation with. I was a happy neglected child, who was now asked to engage and become one with other little people. Forcing myself into a strange state of a community. Why change that which is not broken?  At least with family I could just venture off to a different part of the house, and the ultimate joy of television is having the choice to say enough and turn it off. All of which catered to my enjoyment of solitude. But these kids had no off switch, no mute, no plug to pull. They just went on, and on, and on. I had no sense of control and it killed me. All of my power was gone, I was forced to occupy space with this noise.  That is of course until I was introduced to the shame brought on by the act of timeout. A vicious and cruel punishment that was gracefully bestowed upon me by Ms. Amy.

Interlacing squares was the assignment, such a simple project that called for; three pieces of construction paper, glue, and scissors. With a few precise cuts, one could mesh two separated pieces of different colored paper, glue it to another bigger piece, and create a new design of checkers. The overall goal was to submerse us into a task that would generate cognitive development. As the activity would lead us to use a more creative side of our mind and force us to make something visually appealing and stimulating. Based on my preference I chose black and red. Now along with my weapon (Scissors): I was ready for this odd crafting of art. Within five minutes of the assignment I had failed. I cut the paper incorrectly and was told I had “…used the wrong the paper.” Soon I was swept with a wave of insecurity as the entire class looked upon me. This would be the second choice I made that would learn to regret. For soon I would begin to cry. And sooner I would be forced into solitude.

I cried because I had done something wrong, and everyone had known was aware of my mistake. But furthermore I cried because I possessed a poor ability to regulate my complex emotions (Shaffer and Kip 374). Once again, prior to this I was not asked to possess such skills, it was just me and my mommy. Let us not dwell on the fact I was well over the average age group of a child who should regulate their own complex emotions (Though I was six when all were well into seven). I was able to understand the appropriateness of when to be sad when to be happy. My mother had always provided a rather accepting and responsive environment (541). She always cared, always understood and would always value the good, rather than amplifying the bad. No, the reason for my outburst, was in fact due to strange anxiety (302) and stress, from a woman who was thought to produce a safe environment.

 Upon my outburst Ms. Amy would take me to a secluded part of our small classroom, were a lone chair faced a pure white wall. She said to stay until she returned. I was being reprimanded by a stranger, who had failed to effectively emulate the same characteristics of my mother; and instead generated feelings of intense distress. She allowed for the same temperaments an infant would experience such as fear and irritation (382). This all from a stranger who I had no bond, no prior attachment to. A woman who decreed me as an infringement on her lesson plan for my fellow classmates (577). I was better off being at home to be spanked by my dad. At least my brother would be the only one to see me distraught.

But what soon became a sentencing, turned into a gift. For the first time that morning, I was alone. My attention was taken from the ugliness of that colorful class and shown this wall of simplicity- of beauty. Yes, the noise was around, but was no longer directed to me, almost as if I was invisible. It was amazing. Somehow, without the aid of my mother, I had saved myself from this dreadful plight. I began to see images engraved in the wall. Such as swift sharks or fast cars quickly moving across the wall. It was as if I was watching my Panasonic at home- it was bliss.

Soon Ms. Amy would snatch me away from happiness and I would be flung back into the noise. But it grew easier to know that there was a place to escape. So for the next week I would do anything to obliterate the noise. And with time I required it less and less, eventually I had assimilated (203) into this tenth circle of my journey through the education system. I knew that there was no changing the situation. I knew that I would need to endure.

            Now some thirteen odd years late. I fondly look back upon that period of my life with an appreciation. For my instinctual actions to preserve my sanity in uncertain waters. From the use of assimilation to cope with the invasion on my emotional wellbeing. To the ability to pacify my discomfort in my loss of cognitive equilibrium. Now while it was the environment and overall atmosphere that triggered my reactions. In no way was the experience intentionally negative. Only now do I understand the trails designed for myself were attributed to my own feelings to the situation of my first day of school.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Works Cited.

O’ Neil, Denny, and Novick, Irv. “Threat of the Two Headed Coin”. Batman. Volume 1. #258. DC Comcs.1974. Print.

Shaffer, David R., and Kipp, Katherine. Developmental Psychology: Childhood and Adolescence. 9th ed. Belmont, CA: Cengage Learning, 2013. Print.

Reviews

[Miss L]

I really enjoyed reading your story , The Struggles of a Six Year Old Boy . It was easy to understand how traumatic school could be as a child. Your story has been one of many examples of what some of us have endured in our lives.