Scattered Pictures
"He's a good boy," Mrs. Spencer, the kindergarten teacher, reassured his parents. The adults sat in tiny chairs around a low table. "He's really very intelligent."
"Oh, thank goodness. We were worried he was acting up. He comes home and talks on and on. I worried he had that much to say during the day." The relief was clear in his mother's voice.
"Far from it, he barely speaks at all. He spends most of the day in his seat, staring at the table. He refuses to play games with the rest of the children. He seems bored by everything on my lesson plan. He got angry at another child last week when she couldn't write her name. It really upset the girl."
"He's been reading since he was three. He's known the alphabet since he could talk. He didn't even learn to speak like the other boys, he started with complete sentences." His father's pride was evident.
"That's what he told me. Precocious little thing, isn't he?"
The couple smiled. Their older sons were handfuls, but they'd never done anything warranting a conference in the second month of school. James was special, the kind of special parents hoped for. "Why did you call us here, Mrs. Spencer?"
"After speaking with Ms. Keys, we've decided Jimmy might be better off going straight to first grade. He could possibly advance to second grade, but we think he's too young. Matt might have something to say about his baby brother joining him in second grade, too. Despite how smart he is, he still should be allowed to be a little boy. He could acclimatize to first grade. He may not be challenged, but he won't be as bored."
His mother wanted to be excited, but she couldn't help but worry about her little boy. She had seen the spark in his eyes when he learned a new skill. The first time he read a book on his own, he cornered and read to anyone that would sit still. She had watched him try to play with the neighborhood kids. He would attempt to explain the rules of the latest game he had mastered. His anger would grow until his face would turn red. The games always ended with Jimmy leaving without giving his playmates an explanation. When she watched these scenes she would worry about her baby.
"Will it be a big deal? Can he just join the class without an announcement?"
"Children need explanation, Mrs. Wilson, they get confused," Mrs. Spencer explained.
"James isn't a China vase, Laura. He can take care of himself."
"He's barely five, he shouldn't have to take care of himself," Laura answered.
They decided he would join the first grade class right after the Columbus day weekend. It would lessen the adjustment if the class had been away for awhile.
"Mom, what if the kids don't like me? The other kids don't like me."
"Of course they like you, baby."
"No, they don't. They look at me mean." He was sitting on the floor, his tiny arms wrapped around Charlie, the dachshund. Charlie tried to squirm out of the hold, but there was no escaping the little boy death grip in which he was held. "No one likes me."
"Oh, Jimmy, you're such a good boy. How could someone not like you?" She knelt down beside her son and pried his arms lose from the distraught dog. He grasped at the beast as it scurried away, but his mother caught his hands. "Baby, just be your sweet self and no one could ever dislike you. Just be nice, sweetie. That's all anyone could ever want."
His brothers were in the living room playing a serious game of Connect 4. The checkers were spread out on the coffee table, cookie crumbs and barely touched glasses on of Tang dotted the tabletop landscape. An episode of the Brady Bunchplayed quietly on the TV.
"Matt?"
"Not now, Jimmy, we're busy. I've kicked Tommy's butt two times out of three and he's about to lose again.'
"You wish." The oldest Wilson boy picked up a red checker and dropped it into the bottom center space on the plastic board. Matt followed suit and two minutes of frantic game piece dropping later Tommy had Matt in a headlock and was administering the traditional round of 'Loser Noogies.'
Jimmy watched his brothers until they seemed to be done. "Can I talk now?" he asked
"What, Shrimp?" Tommy grabbed Jimmy by the neck and pulled him into noogie position.
"They're making me go to first grade," he squeaked.
"You're still a kindergarten baby, you can't go to first grade, that's for big kids." Matt was in second grade after all. He knew about the big kids. Tommy was already in fourth grade, so he was practically a grown up as far as Jimmy was concerned.
"Well, Mom said she and Daddy and Mrs. Spencer want me to not be in kindergarten anymore. I'm scared the kids won't like me 'cuz I'm a shrimp."
Tommy punched his baby brother in the arm, "Anyone that doesn't like you will have to talk to me. Just 'cuz you're a baby doesn't mean you're rotten to be around."
"A kid that doesn't like you is a dummy. You tell me about any mean kids and my friends and me will fix 'em.," said Matt.
"You promise? You'd fix 'em for me?" Jimmy smiled.
"Sure, kid. But you won't need us. For a little brother you're a good guy. Just don't act so smart all the time and you'll have lots of friends."
He started first grade a couple of weeks later. His mind raced as he walked into the classroom that first day. "Be a nice boy, everyone will like you. Don't act so smart. We'll fix anyone that messes with, ya, don't worry. You're a big boy now, Jim, make us proud."
He learned there were ways to get what he wanted from people. Listen to a girl talk and she would share her lunch, maybe even give him her chocolate chip cookies. Be a good sport whether he won or lost and the boys wanted him on his team. He liked this kind of attention. Before the class left for winter break he had almost made the class forget that he hadn't been there all the time.
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