We were 6 years old when we were sent off to boarding school. 1st grade, loaded on a little airplane for the next 4 months with a visit after 2. I really had no idea how young six years old was until I had a six year old of my own. Dropping her off on her first day of school, 1 mile from my front door, caused me all sorts of angst. I can't imagine what my Mom and Dad were thinking. I do remember Mom never crying until we left...then looking over my shoulder, as the little airplane went hurtling down our little airstrip, I would see her pull the white handkerchief out from her sleeve, fluttering in the breeze like a sign of surrender.
The week before was a slow withdrawal from family life to school life as we packed our little suitcases. We heard over and over again from my parents how exciting and fun being at school would be. They said it so often that we began to anticipate the 'fun' of it all knowing all along how terrible it would feel to be away from them.
I couldn't wait to see my friends, to be in school, to swim in the pool, Friday fun nights, soft ice-cream, sunshine, 6 weeks break and everything that was orchestrated to give us a good place to go for 'necessary' school. For the most part our teachers and houseparents did a wonderful job. There were a few who made it hard but for the most part it was fun, it just wasn't home.
I will write soon about how it was at school, but for today I want you to know what it was like to be home. We were home only 4 months out of the year but it was the only time we were not one of the many...we were one of the few. We had our parents attention. The Nduga tribe lives in many valleys where it rains most every day. Summer plans had to be crammed in before the afternoon rains; pick nicks,treks to the waterfalls, adventures. Then we moved to inside fun...adventures with Lego, many many books, games and furniture forts. We had clay in the back yard, parrots to avoid, turkeys to run away from, dogs to catch before they ate the chickens, ducklings to hatch and fruit to gather.
Christmas break sent us off to Karubaga where we visited a much more organized station with tennis courts and sunshine all day. Christmas was spectacular...Mom was amazing in cooking on a wood stove and creating such a wonderful space for our family to celebrate.
We always counted the days...because there was never enough time. Too soon we would start packing and preparing to leave.
Anchoring every time at home was the reality that it would end too soon. I could see through my young eyes that it was hard on my mom...it was hard on me...we pretended it wasn't.
This boarding school policy was short sighted and the ramification of this cycle long lived. I still unpack baggage from those years. It does not weigh me down, limit my progress or stunt my ability to thrive. I am weary of the idea that MK's continually need 'help' to cope or the idea that MK's needs are that special. Our world is much too global now to have the market on issues. Everybody has their stuff...mine is packaged in loss.
Scott is home 3 weeks then gone for 3. As we count the days he is home, it is a familiar feeling.
1 comment:
I can't imagine living that way...It makes my heart sad.
But my experience was 180...I lived on a farm where my dad AND mom were home all day with us.
I loved the security of that -- to the point that I was afraid to be without them...An issue that should have been dealt with, but was tolerated, and in later years was a hindrance in my life.
Overall, though, it was a good life on the farm.
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