Tag: kindergarten

Crush

October 10th, 2025

Asher and I were early getting to school. Traffic was remarkably light driving north on I-94, and we arrived at the Waldorf school almost fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Also, we left home sooner than we usually do because Asher really wanted to go to school. This is a new development. For weeks, my wife and I had to threaten and cajole the boy to get up, get fed, and get dressed. Suddenly, that’s all changed. Now, there is strong motivation for Asher to start his morning in kindergarten.

This motivation has straw blonde hair, and she wears it in braids.

When Asher and I finally parked the car near the school, he got out of his child seat and scurried out of the RAV4. I grabbed his backpack. We started walking down Franklin Street toward the parking lot where the students and faculty would gather before calls began. Asher asked me,

“Are the cones up yet?”

The staff puts up numbered traffic cones in the lot to help the kids find their class and line up each morning. I told Asher,

“I don’t know. We can look.”

Asher saw that the lot was still empty.

He said, “The cones aren’t up. We should take a walk.”

He put on his backpack, and we strolled around the block. He kept looking around. He asked,

“Is she here yet?”

“No, I don’t see her.”

“Where could she be?”

“She is probably with her mom, and they are probably on their way to school.”

“I hope she gets here soon.“

I glanced toward the opposite side of the street. A car pulled up and stopped. A young woman opened the rear door and two girls got out of the car. I asked,

“Asher, is that her?”

“YES! THAT’S HER! SHE’S HERE!”

The mother and her two daughters crossed the street and headed our way. The girl from Asher’s kindergarten smiled at him. He melted. He hid partially behind me and grinned back at her. She in turn hid behind her mama and peeked out at Asher. Asher was at the brink of blushing.

All of us walked to the parking lot together. The cones were out. The teachers were starting to herd their students. Asher and the girl got in line and began talking excitedly. Suddenly, he remembered that I still existed. He rushed out of the line and hugged me. Then he said,

“Grandpa, you can go NOW! Goodbye!”

He waved frantically.

“Grandpa! GOODBYE!”

I waved back.

“GRANDPA! BYE!!!”

I turned and left him. I smiled.

Is It Worth It?

September 23rd, 2025

My grandson, Asher, woke up this morning around 6:00. It was still dark outside. He called to me,

“Grandpa!”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

I climbed on to the bed next to Asher. He was lying there with his head buried in the pillow. He didn’t bother to look up at me. Asher asked,

“Is today a school day?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like school days.”

I sympathize with the boy. He will have probably fifty or sixty years of saying, “I don’t like school (or work) days”. Asher has never had to follow a regular schedule before in his life. Now, he is in kindergarten, and his world is topsy turvy. Asher is growing up, and some of that is unpleasant.

I told him, “Sometimes, we have to do things that we don’t like.”

“Grandpa, I don’t like school days.”

“I get it, but you still have to go.”

“I don’t like school days.”

“Asher, get up now.”

The boy remained prone on the bed.

I put my mouth close to his chest and said, “It’s time to get up!”

He giggled, and said, “Stop it.”

I did it again. He laughed and said, “No!”

“Asher, do you want to eat breakfast first, or get dressed first?”

“Breakfast.”

“Do I need to carry you to the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

I lifted him out of the bed to go where Oma was making breakfast.

This sort of thing happens every school day. There are variations on the theme, but it’s always a struggle to get Asher up and running. It is also a struggle to keep him focused once he is upright and moving.

He had Goldfish. a smoothie, and a waffle for breakfast, and then he took his vitamins. We brushed teeth. After that, I got him dressed. Actually, for the most part, he dressed himself: underwear, socks, sweatpants and a sleeveless t-shirt. He put on his jacket on his own, but I had to zip it up for him.

Then we grabbed his backpack containing his water bottle and lunch, and it was into the car. Asher was in his car seat, and I drove. Asher likes to give me guidance from his place in the backseat. I’ve grown used to it.

I find the drive from our house to the Waldorf school to be stressful. It’s 19.2 miles, mostly on the freeway. On a really good morning, we make it to the school in half an hour. On bad days, the amount of time doubles. Class officially begins at 8:00 AM, but we need to be there by 7:50. I try to pull out of our driveway by 7:05.

Timing is everything. If I make it to the Mitchell interchange by 7:20, we are usually okay. The interchange serves as a funnel heading north in the morning. During rush hour, which we always hit, cars from five lanes condense into three. It’s a bottleneck, and traffic inevitably slow down. At 7:20 the cars slow down, but they keep moving. Ten or fifteen minutes later, nothing moves, or the vehicles just barely crawl. I try to hit that sweet spot, so my wife and I are adamant that Asher be in his car seat by 7:00. That has to happen.

Later, when I tried to get off the freeway, a car passed me on the right going much faster than I was. That was disturbing. Asher sensed that. He told me,

“Grandpa, it’s okay.”

I replied testily, “Asher, I don’t like it when I guy blows right past me when I am trying to merge to the right. It scares me.”

Asher said, “Grandpa, it’s okay.“

It takes a kindergartener to calm down an old man.

Finding a parking space near the school is challenging at best. The school is in a densely populated urban area, and parking spaces are rare to nonexistent. I found one today that was a block from the school.

Asher asked, “Why did you park so far away? You should park closer.”

“I couldn’t find anything closer. I’ll try better tomorrow.”

He held my hand as we walked to the school parking lot.

He said, “We have to see if the cones are up. If they aren’t, we have time to take a walk.” (Note: all the students line up in the lot behind numbered cones before class.)

The cones were up, and kids were getting into lines. Asher said, “We got to hurry! I got to be in line before they start singing the verse!”

We hurried. Asher put on his backpack and found his position in the line. A bell rang and the students and faculty members recited the verse together. Then Asher rushed out of the line, hugged me, and found his place again. He told me,

“Grandpa, you can go now”, and he waved.

I left.

Does all this sound like a hassle? It is. Is it worth it? Yes, it is. It’s worth it because Asher’s teacher, Miss Sara, knows Asher and she truly cares about him. So do her assistants, Karina and Chloe. These people have his back. He can depend on them. He can learn from them. Teaching Asher, and his classmates, is a sacred trust for them. They are providing a space for him to grow and become more independent. They let him be a little boy in the best way possible.

For now, Asher is in exactly the right place and with the right people.

So, it’s all worth it.

What Does Minnie Say?

September 10th, 2025

Our grandson, Asher, has been in kindergarten for an entire week. It seems like much, much longer. I take him to school every day, and then I usually hang around in the school’s neighborhood, because it makes little sense for me to drive all the way home and then make the arduous journey across town a second time. There is plenty for me to do while Asher is in class. He is at school from 8:00 AM until 12:30 PM. While he is busy learning, I can write letters, drink coffee, take long walks near the lake, and engage with impromptu conversations with strangers. The first conversation of the morning is often with Asher as we fight rush hour traffic. Asher doesn’t really want to know what I have to say. He wants to hear from Minnie.

Asher has a toy, one that looks like Minnie Mouse. It is a large object, and Minnie rides shotgun in the passenger seat as I drive Asher to the Waldorf School. Asher insists that Minnie wears a seatbelt. He also insists that I answer any questions that he might have for Minnie. For almost the entire trip, Asher is asking me,

“Grandpa, what does Minnie say?”

Asher is relentless in his interrogations of Minnie (me). It just goes on and on and on. He’ll ask,

“Grandpa, what does Minnie say about the weather?”

“Minnie says, ‘It’s cool, but the sun burning off the fog on the fields, and the trees are starting to turn color.’ “

Then Asher cries out, “The leaves on that tree over there are already bright red!”

Then he asks again, “What does Minnie say?”

When I needed to merge into heavy traffic, I told Asher,

“Minnie says that Grandpa needs to watch out for the other cars so that we don’t get in an accident and die.”

That comment had little or no effect. Asher continued to query Minnie and only stopped when he noticed that I was running out of breath. Then he asked me a question.

“Grandpa, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Grandpa, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Because, Grandpa, you got to be okay.”

He’s a perceptive boy.

Today Asher was okay with going to school. Yesterday he fought it tooth and nail. He screamed as we came to the school building yesterday morning, “I don’t want to go to school!” Fortunately, the early childhood coordinator, Martha, was on hand to rescue me. As I was literally dragging Asher out of his child seat, Martha came to take him out of my grasp. She smiled, sighed, and said, “The honeymoon is over.” Then she carried Asher away in her arms as he cried out to me.

Martha smiled again and told Asher, “Say bye to Grandpa. We’ll see him again after lunch.”

Her words implied that I should make myself scarce as soon as possible. I did. A few minutes later, as Asher waited outside with his classmates for school to start, I caught a glimpse of him. He was just fine, calm as could be. He quit protesting as soon as I was out of sight. I was no longer available for negotiations.

Asher went to class. I walked next door for a black Brazilian coffee and some well-deserved quiet. It seemed like a really good idea.

“What does Minnie say?”

Back on Brady Street

August 25th, 2025

Asher starts kindergarten at Tamarack Waldorf School on September 3rd. This is obviously a big deal, both for Asher and for Karin and me. Going to school will open up a whole new world for Asher. He will get to know his teacher, and he will make friends. He will have to learn how to follow a schedule. He’s never had to do that before. Asher has mostly done what he wants when he wants, and for the most part we, as his guardians, have been okay with that. That all changes in a little over a week. He is going to have to get up early, eat breakfast, get dressed, and go to class for the morning every morning. I’m almost certain he will balk at this, at least until he gets comfortable in his class and starts looking forward to doing things with the other children.

I will mostly likely be driving Asher to class each morning. I am a morning person, unlike my wife. The Waldorf school is close to downtown Milwaukee, which means Asher and I will have a half hour drive to get him to class by 8:00 AM each day. Traffic will suck. My wife did this kind of thing with our own kids twenty-five years ago. We know the drill. Since Asher will only be there until 12:30, it is kind of iffy as to whether it is even worthwhile for me to drive back home once I drop him off. I might as well stay in area around the school while he is in class.

Tamarack is located on Brady Street on the lower eastside of Milwaukee. It’s close to Lake Michigan. Tamarack uses the old school building from St. Hedwig’s Catholic Church. The steeple of St. Hedwig’s towers over the other buildings on the street. It is the anchor for the neighborhood. The school building is ancient. It has classrooms with high ceilings, tall windows, and hardwood floors. The school has a feeling of solidity and durability. If you listen closely, you can hear the voices of previous generations of children laughing and yelling in the halls. For me, there are ghosts in the school. Even if I am surrounded by the new parents and their kids, I can still feel the presence of the people who taught and learned in that place a quarter century ago. The school contains echoes of the past, but it is also vibrant with the energy of the latest generation. It’s like life is coming full circle.

Brady Street is an interesting neighborhood. It always has been. Early on, it was an immigrant community of Germans, Poles, and Italians. St. Hedwig’s is named after a Polish saint. There is still an Italian grocery store (Glorioso’s) a few blocks away from the school. Peter Sciortino Bakery is across the street from Tamarack. During the 60’s and 70’s, Brady Street was a hippie hangout. Now, it’s a narrow road lined with bars that cater to a mostly hipster crowd, young people with money. But the neighborhood is still quirky. The community is very LGBTQ friendly. The area is ethnically diverse. Brady is a good street for walking and browsing. There is a paradoxical sense of permanence and simultaneous upheaval. It’s a neighborhood that is alive.

I came to know that area in the 1990’s. I used to go down the block from the school to the Brewed Cafe for coffee. Sometimes, I went there by myself, and sometimes with my wife. Brewed is not there anymore. They closed down a few years ago, and now the place is a Brazilian coffee shop. The new coffee house is nice enough, but it’s not Brewed. The Brewed Cafe had this scruffy, working-class, antiestablishment atmosphere. Once a person managed to get through the front door, which never really opened and closed very well, they would see numerous pamphlets and posters advertising upcoming shows by local bands or political events or art exhibits. The front counter was small and cramped. At busy times of the day, customers lined up almost all the way back to the door. Once at the counter, a person could order coffee or other beverages. They had beer (it’s Wisconsin-almost every establishment serves beer). There was a tiny kitchen in the back where people made vegan sandwiches and other dishes. The folks working at Brewed all had more than usual number of tattoos and piercings. I’m sure they worked for minimum wage, but they got to pick what music was played in the coffee shop.

Even when there were only a few customers, Brewed seemed crowded. Space was at a premium. The tables were small and wobbly. If you ordered coffee, you got that immediately. If you ordered food, it showed up eventually. The walls were covered with works by local artists. The bathrooms were microscopic in size, and the walls were plastered with graffiti and stickers for bands that I had never heard of. The place was clean, but cluttered. Over the years, it had accumulated a variety of objects that somehow lost their purpose and meaning, but remained there, nonetheless. Brewed was oddly comfortable. Going there for coffee or lunch was kind of like going into somebody’s home.

I miss that place. I will have to find another hangout on Brady Street.