T is for Love

Shawn Joaquin attended after school care yesterday for the first time; as a kid who needs a 2 hour nap every day, I was anxious about his ability to sleep in a darkened room filled with toys and other drowsy children who might — with the proper stimulation — be encouraged to join him in hopping like a kangaroo, running small trucks over inert bodies or smashing playdoh into the carpet.

I asked him how his nap experience went, and if he enjoyed the day.

SJ: I slept with Tanya today.
Me: Really?
SJ: No. She slept and I WATCH her. I had a goooooood day.

Initially I mistook this for budding romanticism, until I reminded myself that Tanya was his teacher and perhaps he was just trying to rat her out for sleeping on the job. But given that Tanya is absolutely one of our favorite and most engaged and loving teachers and the only reason Shawn Joaquin learned the letter "T", I was pretty sure that wasn't the case.

Me: Do you want to try to stay at school again and have a nap someday?
SJ: YES. I want to sleep with Tanya AGAIN.

As the conversation continued, I realized I was really experiencing Shawn Joaquin's first crush — those innocent, dreamy crushes of preschool and elementary school that have nothing to do with gender or romantic love but the person that gives you a reason to hitch up those training pants and make your way to school.

My first crush was a little girl named Nina who had a red dress with a belt that had two white plastic elephants that joined at their trunks. She was Chinese, and I was fascinated by her beautiful, black hair and porcelain skin, such a contrast to mine. We learned Zoom's ubby dubby language together, and performed Roses are Red in ubby dubby for our show-and-tell one day, sure than no one would understand our very secret language. We were crushed to learn that other kids understood, but thanks to the depth of our friendship and my hope to someday wear that dress, we survived.

Later I had crushes on Mikey McBride, who let me flip him repeatedly on the playground to the amazement of a bully I was trying to thwart; Jo, my third grade teacher who let us call her by her first name and once returned from a ski trip with a terrible sunburn and white raccoon eyes from her goggles, a look I considered to be one of the most beautiful and exotic things I had ever seen in my short life; Mr. Tyler, who wore cable-knit sweaters, smoked a pipe and had what I now know is more than a passing resemblance to Tom Selleck; Curtis Wise, my best friend in kindergarten whose breathing I tried to emulate in all it's cool wonder, never understanding that it was paralyzing asthma and allergies that created that wet, sucking sound; and, among countless others, Mrs. Ward, my fourth grade teacher who called us "people" instead of "children" and who introduced me to some of my favorite writers and artists and who was the following year killed by her husband in a violent fight — my first taste of loss and anxiety.

Tanya will have a place in Shawn Joaquin's best memories from preschool, and I have no doubt that while some day he will forget his mother's birthday or his first dog's name or even his own name, Tanya will not be forgotten. She is his muse — it is for her that he sits on the toilet at school each day, attempts to use scissors, learned the letter "T", and is willing to give up his naps to gaze on her face in repose. It may not be the homage that most women seek, but I believe that she too will have a place in her heart for him in the future.

This morning as we packed up for school, he asked who would be at school today. We went through the usual suspects, as he grew more pensive each moment. "Is Tanya gonna be there?" he finally asked. "Yes," I replied. That was what he was looking for. "LET'S GO! LET'S GET IN THE CAR NOW! GO! GO!" And with that he was gone, his little back pack flapping, his rain-or-shine dinosaur rainboots pushing his jeans up and his baseball shirt hanging well below his too-short but favorite windbreaker — a little man on his way to meet his love and to offer her all of his gifts and perhaps even a bite of his sandwich or a chance to take him to the bathroom. For a three-year old, that's love.