The game’s afoot!
The school year is underway for Cleo and me.
What a difference just a couple months has made to her
maturity level! It’s very much
like seeing last year’s pint-sized, squirrely ninth grader striding across the
quad in his new sophomore form, a head taller, mustache sprouting, confidence
brimming over. Cleo, though still
ready to wrestle, chase, bound, leap and play at the smallest hint of an
invitation, has come to understand that she also serves who only stands and
waits. Or lies down and
chews.
On Tuesday, she came with me to school for a day of faculty
meetings. I had left her home on
Monday because I thought she would be too bored and fidgety, but John told me
that she moped around the house all day long. It’s true that when I got home Monday night after several
hours of meetings and an orientation for new students and their parents, Cleo
greeted me as if I’d just returned from the wars. A seventeen pound, squeaking projectile with a very wet
tongue packs a surprising amount of force. So I decided the next day that six hours of meetings might
be more enjoyable for her than house arrest; at least we’d be together. It was something of a gamble, though,
because if she proved too much of a distraction at the meeting, I’d have to
lock her in my office by herself.
Then only I would be distracted, worrying about her being bored and
lonely.
All of our colleagues were glad to see her, and she had to
greet most of them, giving special attention to her favorites: Jennifer who
stayed with her when we were away this summer, Charlotte whose grandmother had
Bedlingtons and who always makes a big fuss over her, Kim who roughhouses and
wears jangly bracelets, Cammy who is the only playmate fast enough to nab a toy
right out of Cleo’s mouth, and Chuck who, as the head of school, often takes a
central position which always fascinates and impresses her. I laid her blanket down at my feet and
deposited her favorite chew toy, an antler, on top of it. I told her “Down” and “Stay,” then sat
poised to corral her back into place should she move. Only a couple of times when speakers changed positions, some
returning to their seats while others moved to stand up front, did Cleo jump
up, thinking it was break time.
During lunch, she went on an extended explore of the campus
perimeter, never going out of ear shot, but having a marvelous time hunting
lizards and ground squirrels. For
the afternoon session, she sacked out contentedly on her blanket, occasionally
sitting up for presentations and discussions that caught her interest. Her favorite was a video of one of our
students speaking at a TED-x conference.
Maybe the laughter and clapping coming from the screen reminded her of The Colbert Report. We know how she feels about him.
It's not easy waking up early after sleeping in all summer. |
So after this good-as-gold performance, I was excited to see
what she would do with all the students on campus Wednesday morning. For a while, she stood and stared at
them, but then she saw Betsy, her pal of last year. The night before, I had gotten an email the complete text of
which was, “Will Cleo be at school tomorrow?” No salutation.
No sign off. It was good I
recognized her email address. It
was obvious from the exuberance of the greeting that they had missed each
other. I made one big mistake by
taking Cleo into the opening of school assembly. I had hoped to introduce her to the new students, but I had
forgotten how boisterous the student body always is, letting out a huge cheer
and clapping when the head of school says, “Welcome to the new school
year!” We may be only 225 students
and 40 adults, but we pack a roar when we want to. And before you accuse me of indulging in fantasy, it’s
really true—the kids cheer about being back at school. Loudly enough that I made the hasty
decision to take Cleo back to my office for that part of the morning.
One great treat about this school year so far has been our
experiment. We have been leaving
the baby gate off the office door.
While one of us works at her desk, the other sometimes naps on the
couch, plays with a student or occasionally makes a circuit of the library,
never going far and never (knock on wood) trying to leave the building. When I have to leave her behind, she
follows me to the outside door, looking after me reproachfully as I tell her to
“Hold the fort.” When I return,
she is always back on her blanket on the couch in our office. It would be so wonderful if we could
maintain the gate-free door, so much more inviting for the students to come in
and out, so much healthier for Cleo to have the chance to visit—politely—with
folks in the library.
I’ve also been taking her to my classes, blanket and antler
in hand. She chews or sleeps or
observes and has been a perfect gem.
The first time I walked into class with her, my students actually
gasped. I teach the youngest
students in the school, the unique grade eight in a high school. They are innocent, earnest, curious
kids who for the first few days are confused and vulnerable and awestruck. After a couple of Ohs and Ahs, as Cleo
settled down on her blanket to gnaw on her antler, one of the students
quaveringly asked, as if it were too good to be true, “Do we get to have Cleo
in class?” By Friday afternoon when
I dismissed them, half of them clustered around Cleo to pat her and rub her
tummy. One boy put his forehead
against her side, then rubbed his cheek against her. “She’s so soft!” he exclaimed. “Let me feel,” said a girl. She rubbed her cheek in the downy hair. “Oh, she is!” she agreed. One after another, six or seven more
students knelt down to rub a forehead or cheek on Cleo’s side. She sprawled contentedly, not the least
bit concerned by being completely surrounded, nearly smothered by, half of the
eighth grade class. Up she popped
when it was time to go and pranced her way back to our office.
This is her territory.
These are her people. She
doesn’t care about what grade they’ve gotten, their GPA, SAT or AP scores. She cares about the important
qualities, the lasting qualities.
Is this someone who will get down on the floor and rub his cheek in your
fur? Is this someone who will stop
on her way across campus to pat your tummy and rub your ears? Is this someone ready to play with you?
Let the games begin!
Nice way to start the new school year for Cleo, and for the kids (Not to mention Cleo's mom.) Thanks, Joyce, and thank John for sending the link.
ReplyDeleteLove, Jo Ann