Kindergarten had gone exceedingly well. She loved it. She loved being there, she loved learning, she loved helping. She loved her friends and she loved her teacher. Kindergarten was a whole new world of her own. No more hearing older brother stories about school and its activities, she had her own stories to tell. And tell them she did from the moment she got off the bus until she collapsed at night. We knew her teachers every mood and action. We heard who loved who and who didn't love who. We heard who bothered who. She look forward with great anticipation to first grade, because in first grade you get to do real math and read from first grade books.
First grade started off just fine. She loved her teacher, she made new friends and shared some of the same friends from kindergarten. Before long we started to hear complaining. She loved to learn and she loved the social aspect and she began getting phone calls from sweet little voices wondering what she was going to wear the next day. But something was bothering her. It was P.E.. She hated it. She didn't like to run. Nothing physically impaired her, she just didn't like it. They didn't have to do this in kindergarten. This was competition, competition to her anyway. She could have not worried about it but she put it upon herself to be among or try and be among the first five that finished. This running became agony. We told her to relax and not worry that you couldn't be first at everything. The speech didn't work. She fought it and detested it and sometimes around p.e. time went to the nurses office complaining with a stomach ache. If I heard the phrase, "I HATE P.E." once, I heard it a hundred times. The year went on and so did the running. The complaining slowed somewhat and so did the stomach aches. I think she started getting used to it. Everything else was going well. She liked math and spelling and reading. Her teacher was nice too. When the school year was coming to a close she came home one day with a ribbon. It was a ribbon that stated that she had been a participant in the second annual track and field day at her school. (wasn't the right time to bring up that I wished she would have mentioned it so I could have been there) This was totally voluntary. I asked her what she participated in. She said, the 440. The 440, run? Yep. She didn't have to take part in it, she wanted to. She also could have picked a shorter distance to run. She also told me that when she was running she was almost last because her shoe fell off, but when she put her shoe back on she passed a lot of people. I pictured it in my mind like a Hollywood movie ending, I think I could even hear the music.... something like the Chariots of Fire theme song. I hugged her and told her how wonderful I thought it was that she did this. Something that she hated so much, she faced. I told her that she didn't even realize what a grown up thing that she had done. Later in her life as she faces obstacles I hope to remind her of that 440 run. When she is faced with things that she thinks she can't handle or doesn't want to handle, I'll hope to remind her of how grown up she had been at 7. This also serves as a great reminder to me that as an adult I sometimes need the courage and determination of a child to face what comes along in life.