CHILD
Cora Snyder
“She’s a problem child.” I smiled. The volunteer from the Twos room continued, “She cries when her parents drop her off. Never talks. Never wants to do anything.” “Good to know,” I said, turning back to my own classroom. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to face my class of three-year-olds. The ‘terrible threes’, as some called them. The truth is, it's always been my favorite age group. I love the challenge. And I absolutely love a good problem child. As a lead Sunday school teacher, I’ve had my share of tough cases. I’ve never met an unsolvable problem child. He can’t sit still at small group? Give him a block to hold and fidget with. She’s shy being the only girl in class? Color with her and compliment her hair. He’s scared of the large group room because it’s too dark? Sit with him in the doorway. Most problems could be solved with calm words, a hug, or some stickers. This little girl, however, was something else entirely. I tried all the standard tricks. Nothing worked. She couldn’t be calmed by compliments on her dress or questions about her favorite color. She couldn’t be tempted to build the tallest tower or the longest train. She gave in to neither Goldfish nor Chex Mix. Not even my brand new pack of stickers was enough to get her to tell me what she learned after large group. Weeks went by with no change. Then, one Sunday, the children gathered on the bright orange carpet for small group time. “Anyone who can tell me something they learned today gets a sticker!” Child by child I gave out stars until only one remained. “Kay, can you tell me something you learned today?” Then Kay looked up. Not at me, not at the other teacher. She looked at the other children sitting in the circle, staring at her, waiting for an answer. She froze, her eyes wide. Then,
silently shaking her head, she looked down, focusing on twisting the carpet between her fingers. The look on her face made everything make sense. This was a kind of problem child I’d never encountered: a little girl with crippling shyness. Of course she didn’t want to talk or participate, not with all the other children watching her. Of course she cried at drop-off; her parents were her comfort people. Of course no progress had been made; she lacked a source of safety in my classroom. I knew the problem. Time for a solution. The next Sunday at drop-off, I took her, crying, from her mother. This time, instead of trying to calm or distract her, I held her while I welcomed other children and prepared crafts. She quieted. In time, the arms around my neck loosened as she took a deep breath and lifted her head. When she was ready, I set her down. Encouraged by the small victory, I offered to color with her, just the two of us. She nodded. That was just the beginning. I held her hand, sat with her at the table in the corner, let her stay behind when large group was too much, made sure I always greeted her at the door with a cheerful “Good Morning, Miss Kay!” until she grew comfortable in my classroom. By the end of the year, she sat with the other kids, coloring and talking about favorite colors and puppies and Frozen. She answered questions and earned stickers in small group. She ran and gave me hugs when she saw me in the hallway. Sometimes she still got overwhelmed, but then we would sit together until she felt better again. On move-up day, Kay waved at me before heading to the Fours room. I watched her walk in all by herself, without a single tear. I smiled. As a former problem child myself, I knew she was going to be just fine. Blue Review Vol. XXVIII
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