Saying Hello

Every afternoon when it’s time to go, she’s does her rock star approximation, flashing that beautiful smile and waving at everyone. “Bye, Lisa,” and “Bye, Mike,” she says as she is escorted out of the building, with everyone excited that she decided to speak to them. I am that escort most days and I smile at the people as we pass, too, but I don’t think I’m the one they really care about. I carry her bag as she chats her way out of the building, and that’s okay with me. She’s my daughter, and it IS her school, so I’m cool with that.

The problem is every morning when she arrives at school with her mother. The greetings are just as effusive as the goodbyes from the people she passes in the hallway, but her response is different. A tight-lipped “no” replaces her affable afternoon personality, almost as if she is the Hyde portion of Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde. There’s just something about saying hello, about arriving instead of leaving, that gets up her ire, and that changes that pleasant personality. I just don’t know what it is.

You see, she likes school. It’s apparent in the way the teachers and aides talk about her, and in the way she talks about it when she’s not there. School is a place where she learns and she loves to learn. But for some reason, maybe she’s not quite awake yet, my four-year old doesn’t quite know how to adjust so early in the morning. My wife has taken to making a deal with her to say at least three hellos during the hallway walk to her classroom every day. And I think eventually it will catch on, but I doubt it will be as amazing as those afternoon goodbyes.

I feel a little bad, too, because I get the positive side of things, and my wife gets the “no” side of things, but something tells me it will all even out in the end and we’ll look back on this time as “constructive.” Or something.

Sam