30 March 2001
|A moment from this morning: Damian sits in a large enclosed sandbox playing with trucks. I sit with him. A lovely black woman with her hair wrapped in a turban opens the gate and comes onto the sand.
"I didnt have a chance to talk to you inside. Im May."
"Im Tamar and this is Damian."
She kneels to look Damian in the eyes. In a warm voice, she says "Hi Damian."
He doesnt look up from his trucks. I say, "Damian, this is April. Shes your new teacher.
He lifts his head and gives her a wide open gaze. He raises his hand in a little sideways "hello" wave.
April says, "You have beautiful eyes, Damian. And a beautiful face." She smiles at him. He looks back, solemn in this unfamiliar setting, but comfortable with the contact.
And I feel like crying.
Hes going to be okay. Its all going to be okay.
I have to chivvy the Regional Center to kick in funding soon enough, but if all goes well, Damian will start at this new preschool in two weeks, just after spring break. Its a special needs school with a strong floor time emphasis, one of relatively few in the entire country. Ill have to wake up at six or so, get out of the house by seven thirty, drive ten miles (a lot for the middle of a crowded city) and sit in a café for three hours while Damian learns, but its worth all that and more.
copyright 2001 Tamar