My gut was so confused.
Our 11-year-old, Maxon, didn't get what he needed academically out of his fourth-grade year and entered fifth grade unprepared for the more rigorous curriculum. He often came home with complaints, repeated conflicts with other kids in his class and chronic, severe mathitis. My husband, Michael, and I wondered if another school would be a better fit for him, so we applied to a few other places.
A few weeks ago, we made the decision to switch him to a new school starting in the fall.
I was absolutely certain this was the right thing to do, as was Michael. My gut was solid on it. We were sure he would thrive in this new school, match up better with a different curriculum, embrace his more creative side, find more like-minded kids.
We knew it might be a little hard for him to process the news, but we were resolved. We were going to stand firm in the face of tears and protests. He'd be fine once the new school year started and he saw how right we were.
And then we told him he was going to go to another school for sixth grade.
Let's say we expected a light shower. We got a paralyzing apocalyptic superstorm.
It was raw, undiluted sorrow. It was disbelief and horror and, in his words, "deathfullness." It was two hours of hysterical begging for us to please, please, please change our minds. He screamed, he ranted, he held out his hand to push me away. He told me he hated me and wouldn’t let me hold him. He went to bed with swollen eyes and an icy demeanor.
"Maybe tomorrow you will see things differently," I said while sitting on the edge of his bed.
"No I won't. You’re really mean, mom."
"I know it feels that way."
"No. It is that way. You're mean. You're a mean person."
I nodded and said goodnight, then left his bedroom with a deep breath, my stony edifice protecting my mommy feelings from such words. Because I, the wise parent, know what's best. I was trusting my gut. Goin' with the gut!
And then I bawled like an Italian widow. I howled things into my husband's shoulder like, "He's never been like that, he's never not let me hold him!" In my head I turned the situation inside out – imagining him angry in bed, deciding he will never, ever, ever trust me again.
When Maxon woke up, he was still in tears, begging us to change our minds. He came into my room to talk with me.
"I didn't appreciate what I had, mom," he said. "I complained. I hope you please change your mind."
And then he went to spend the night with his grandparents and we took our younger son to a birthday party in the Poconos. Maxon sent me a string of 17 pleading texts with sad face emojis. One thing we were sure of by the end of the weekend, we no longer had a rock solid gut. I told friends, "Well, there's no wrong decision. He will do well at either school." But inside, I wasn't so sure.
When we started looking at other private schools and heard what some parents said about the school where our children are enrolled – and not all of it nice – it made me think about the education we choose for our kids and how it becomes knitted to our personalities. In fact, it seemed that people viewed the schools themselves as having personalities, not unlike the typical cliques of an American high school — the jocks, the Dead heads, the artsy kids, the brains.
As I went through the process of visiting schools and talking to parents, I found myself being drawn into this noise. It wasn't long before the question of which school my son should attend felt more like a question about which clique he belonged in.
So I took a step back. I stopped filling in the enrollment papers for the other school. I listened to Maxon's arguments. I thought about the struggles he was having, knowing that my usual philosophy is to build character by working through challenges, not by abandoning ship to find something easier.
Michael and I met with the principal of his school for the second time, who paid such thoughtful attention to our son, examining every report card since kindergarten and offering ways that the school could help support him in middle school. By the end of the meeting we knew exactly what to do.
We sent the re-enrollment forms back to Maxon's school. I trusted my gut. Even though it changed its mind.