Mittens

Yesterday was -16 with the windchill, so since I am finished teaching for the term and had marked my quota of essays for the day, I decided to drive to A's school to pick her up. I was particularly concerned about her getting cold . . .



Imagine me standing outside her school, unsure whether they'd even bring the kids out in the cold, stomping to keep my feet warm in my winter boots, and then when I saw the pre-schoolers tumble out the double doors, searching their little bundled bodies for A's face. I saw her friend, S, who ran to greet me at the gate, her small hands jabbing through the fence, asking what the pink, sparkly purse in my hand had in it. I showed S the little pet shop cat and tin of hand balm and noticed her own bare hands and tried to say, in my still-halting French, "Put your mittens on, your hands will get cold."



As I said this, I looked up to see A at the wall with another friend, bare-handed herself and clutching a spruce twig. I waved and she looked away. I shouted, "Put your mittens on . . . " before noticing she didn't even have mittens on . . . but a thin stretchy dollar store glove. That's when I broke school policy and walked around and into the schoolyard to help her get something warm on her hands. I was, I realize, quite upset by this point. She'd been out in the cold for several minutes and none of the teachers wandering around had noticed the children's bare hands or helped them get mittens on them. Meanwhile, the teachers were so bundled, it was likely they couldn't see past their hoods and scarves to the kids at all. I rushed to A, who started to cry, as she always seems to whenenver she sees me after seeing her dad. I put her spruce twig in her bag and searched for her mittens, which were in the pocket of her bag. She refused to wear them, at this point, as she was crying and somehow upset with me, probably for breaking the 4th wall convention of the school yard, whereby I'm supposed to remain outside the fence, observing until 3:25 pm.



As I explained the importance of mitts on hands, A pulled another silly, stretchy glove from her pocket and pulled it on. I calmed down slightly and looked around for the teacher, wondering how anyone with any sense would allow children out without mittens in those kinds of temperatures.



As I asked for Mme. T, I was directed inside, so went, and ran into A's friend's mom, whom I told about the debacle. Her comment was, "It was chaos in there today." Very reassuring.

I didn't find the teacher I was looking for, so trundled back outside until I did. In my crap French I explained that A had come out without mittens.



She replied, (in French) "She didn't have any mittens. I looked everywhere."



I then zipped opened A's bag and showed her the two sets of mittens in the pocket and said, "She had mittens in her bag."



Mme. T said, "Oh, we don't look in their bags."



"Incroyable!" I snorted.



Mme . T said, "She didn't come to school with mittens today and there was nothing in her cubby."



"Well, next time, can't you look in her bag?" I asked.



She seemed to hesitate. She obviously wasn't enjoying this conversation.



"She's only four years old," I said. "She spent last night at her father's. Can't you help her find her mittens?" My voice, I realize, was rising.



The conversation ended as she made some excuse to walk away. That wasn't the end of it, but that's all I'll say because I just lost the rest of this post to the ether . . .

The point is, how can this so-called student-centered school be so callous?