I see my son Luke’s favorite blue-striped shirt as he hunches over a desk. He’s by himself, not coloring, not reading…doing nothing. He’s five years old and is taking the move to Star Falls as well as can be expected. He seemed excited to start day care, and both of our brief visits went well.
I figured the first full day I left the kids here would be tough, but not like this.
My heart tightens at the sight of my sweet, talkative son alone, seemingly looking at his hands. I can see two aides supervising the Beetles, which is the nickname given to this room. I’ll find out why he seems so sad once I know Cora is all right.
My attention goes back to Kell-whatever.
“How long has she been screaming?” I ask loudly, hoping my voice isn’t drowned out by the squeak of my shoes on the floor.
She looks back at me with a grimace. “Um, I think she’s been pretty upset since lunch.”
I check my phone. “Isn’t lunch at 11:30?”
She nods. “Yeah. But Miss Thompson thought she’d settle down.”
I rub my face hard, working the stubble on my face between my fingertips while I try to control my emotions. My three-year-old child has been a hysterical mess for hours, and no one’s called me? I square my shoulders and ready myself for confrontation.
I’m used to managing an entire football field full of rowdy teenagers. I can handle messy.
What I cannot handle is my baby crying. And clearly, Miss Thompson can’t either.
When the aide reaches Miss Thompson’s office, she taps lightly on the door. I can see Miss Thompson on her knees on the floor, patiently shaking a stuffed animal at Cora, while my daughter stands facing a wall with a window that overlooks the parking lot.
Cora’s little hands are spread against the drywall, and I can hear through the door the hysterical shuddering of her breaths as she calls for me on every painful exhale.
“Move,” I demand and pull open the door of Miss Thompson’s office. “Sweetheart, I’m here. Daddy’s here.” I swoop down and pick up my daughter before she can even turn around. She immediately drops her head against my shoulder, snot and tears wetting my T-shirt.
She’s babbling inconsolably.
I just stand there, rocking lightly in place, patting her back and her soft, dark hair. “Shh,” I urge. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here.” While I cuddle my daughter, I glare at Miss Thompson. She looks shocked and a little annoyed.
“Mr. Cooper,” she says, scrambling to her feet. She’s young, probably just a few years out of college, and yet she’s the executive director of this place.
When I interviewed with her before I enrolled my children here, she seemed to understand my situation. Now I am painfully aware that whether she understands my situation and whether she can handle my children are two very different things.
With the hand stroking Cora’s back, I wave at the teacher to stop talking. “My children haven’t been in anyone’s care but family,” I grit out. “We discussed at length what they’ve been through. What we’ve all been through.”
Miss Thompson looks annoyed and yet also a little embarrassed. “Of course, I understand,” she says, talking way too fast and way too loudly. I feel Cora jump in my arms at her tone. “Both Cora and Luke have been doing just fine.”
“Just fine?” I echo. This is nothing close to fine. “My daughter has been in hysterics since lunchtime? What the hell happened?”
“I’ll have to ask you to watch your language,” Miss Thompson says primly.
I find my eyebrow lifting up in outrage. “I will speak however I want to speak around my own children,” I say. “I’d like a refund for the balance of my deposit,” I tell her. “I’m pulling my kids out of here.” I turn on my very wet heel and squeak my way down the hallway.
“Mr. Cooper,” Miss Thompson calls, trailing after me as I head for Luke’s classroom. “Please wait. This is against our safety protocols.”
That has my anger boiling over. I turn to her with a glare that I hope is nearly as lethal as it feels. “Safety protocols? You have the nerve to throw safety in my face when you let my child sit in hysterics for how long now? Three hours?”
Miss Thompson firms her lips. “She saw Luke when the classrooms passed by each other over lunch,” she explains. “She wanted her brother, but you know, as I explained, we do not allow children to play with children outside of their assigned age pods. It’s a safety consideration.”
I grip my daughter with both hands. Cora is completely quiet now, her snuffle-snorts absorbed by my shoulder as her tears ease. “You think keeping a three-year-old away from her brother when she’s been through what these kids have been through…” I shake my head and turn away. “So you, what? Took her out of the classroom so she could be punished by screaming in your office with you?”
“It’s policy, Mr. Cooper,” she shouts in a shrill tone. “You were provided a copy of our policies when you enrolled your children.”
I don’t even bother to lower my voice or turn back to her as I shout, “Your policies are bullshit, lady!”
I turn the knob on the Beetles room and don’t bother going in.
