Daddy's Desk - Oct, 2006 "The Car-jacking"

Dropping off my son for his first day of Pre-School last month was far more entertaining than I ever could have imagined. Everything was fine as we drove in and walked through the parking lot to the front door. He posed for a few pictures holding his little Scooby-Doo lunch box, and he seemed to comprehend that these were going to be pictures for longevity, so he pulled out a few of his extra-cute smiles and tilted his head for added effect. He’s a very considerate toddler that way. Then I pulled open that front door, and chaos erupted. The first sound emanating from the hallways was the sound of inconsolable crying, mixed with the sound of gnashing teeth. I took one look down to my son and a look of pure dread had replaced the Kodak-perfect smile. I immediately realized I had trouble on my hands. I held his hand and walked toward his classroom and I could feel him tensing up and pulling back, as if we were heading for immediate danger. I dragged him through the classroom door and witnessed first-hand the chaos inside. Wailing children in the arms of their mothers and fathers. Young, innocent children with a look of pure horror in their eyes. My son surveyed the scene and immediately decided to partake in the bedlam. He began wailing.
But his heart really wasn’t into the whole wailing thing, in fact he seemed to be doing it out of peer- pressure alone. Then he spotted a cool car on the floor, and another kid eyeing it. Jealousy quickly replaced terror. He ran over to the car and boldly attempted a carjacking in broad daylight. This sparked a bizarre phenomenon I would call Toddler Territoriality. All the kids in the room stopped their silly crying and immediately ran to the coolest looking toys they could find in the room and staked claim to them. Parents shifted gears from consoling-mode to lecturing-mode, rambling on about the values of sharing. The children sensed the tide turning against them, so they quickly began to summon up more tears in a desperate attempt to remind their short-sighted parents how inconsolable they could become. With this stalemate reached in the negotiating process, parents sensed this was the best time to make their move. While the children were distracted battling for their favorite toys, the parents tip-toed out of the classroom and bolted for the parking lot, figuring the professionals could handle it from here.
Such was the first day of school. On my way out, I peeked into my wife’s classroom and witnessed her class of 2 year olds sitting quietly in their chairs with shimmering halos
dancing above their heads. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I asked a parent next to me what kind of medication these children were on. She told me these were the “older” 2 yearolds.
I had no idea there was a difference. When people ask me how old I am, I don’t usually say I’m an “older” 38 year-old. The next time I don’t behave well, I may try that though.
I dedicate this article to my son’s teachers, Ms. Michele and Ms. Tammy, who by the grace of God saw it through Day 1 and decided to go back for Day 2.