The schools were a big part of our decision to move to The Netherlands. No system is perfect, but we felt like the education here aligned well with our values. We were very thoughtful and intentional about what it would look like for each kid. We want to support their integration into the culture and community here. So, Adeline would enter a traditional Dutch classroom. Her brain is still in language acquisition mode at five years old, so she will pick up the language organically as she learns and plays with friends. Her teachers will speak English and be able to support her. Noah would enter Taal School (language school). The primary focus for him is learning Dutch. He will be in a class with kids who have moved here in the last year (some over the summer just like him), so they are all in the same boat. We felt great about it!
Then we showed up for their first day of school yesterday. There was a short assembly in the courtyard, all in Dutch (which is absolutely appropriate and also overwhelming) and then we took Adeline to her classroom and left Noah with his teacher. I could see on their faces that they felt overwhelmed. I could see they were scared and trying to be brave. And they were. They were so brave. Unbelievably so. No one was clinging. There weren’t even any tears (well, from them anyway.) There was a coloring sheet at Adeline’s spot in the class. So we got big hugs, then she sat to color. Noah joined up with his class, gave us a little wave, then turned away. I could tell he was trying not to cry. And it would have been ok, totally understandable, if either of them had started to cry. I was ready for that. I was not prepared for how courageous they would be.
I left there thinking about immigrant mothers. As a US citizen and an expat in a country with a housing crisis, I’m aware that there are lots of thoughts, feelings and opinions on immigrants, but I’d like to set the “issue” of immigration aside for a minute. Can we talk, for just a minute, about the humans. Those kiddos who walk into a classroom full of kids who don’t speak their language. They’re listening to English all around them and they can maybe pick up on a word or two, but they’re a bit lost. But they keep showing up and working to learn. That’s amazing to me. And the parents who are trying to give their kids the best life they can. They have to walk away and leave them there. Knowing that they feel a bit lost and completely overwhelmed. And part of them wants to just scoop them up and take them home. But this is why they came. For opportunities that weren’t available elsewhere.
Adeline has been working so hard to learn to ride her bike. When we moved, she was at the stage where we would run alongside her and get her started, then let go and let her keep going. Once we moved, she was determined to get it. Little Miss Independence wanted to be able to bike on her own. For a couple of days, we would hold the bike steady while she climbed on, she would start to peddle and we would just let go. That quick little second of letting go was so hard. I had to watch her wobble. But then she was off! And now she’s doing it. She’s riding her bike with no assistance and it’s amazing to see. But if I’d tried to rescue every wobble, she never would have gotten there.
So, we let them wobble. And at the end of the day, we had smiling kids (completely exhausted, but happy.) They made friends, they played, they learned. Today’s drop off went so smoothly and there was no resistance at all. Not one little wobble.
My job is not to rescue them. It’s to cheer them on. To support them. Sometimes those wobbles end in a crash, and I comfort them, then get them back on the bike. And I do all of this, trying not to show them that it rips me apart to see them hurt, to see them scared. But I do want to do my best to show them that I’m proud of how brave they are. I’m in awe of their resilience. Being a parent is not for the faint of heart. But it’s also an incredible privilege to watch these young humans take on their worlds.
