Between a Rock and a Hard Place

The calls come when you least expect them.

My work day had gotten off to a good start. Coffee was hot and in the mug, desktop computer was booted up, and I'd delved into the glut of emails waiting to be dealt with. The sun was out and it was going to be a good Friday.

The phone rang and I turned to answer it, when I noticed an unfamiliar number was displayed on the screen.

"Mr. B-----?" "Yes." "Hi, this is Ms. Allen from your daughter's preschool class."

Gulp. It was about Dos.

Meaning, what I was about to hear next could literally be anything.

"Your daughter seems to have something stuck in her ear."

"Oh, really." I was actually relieved. I consider myself a pretty handy solver of kid problems, and on the scale of 1 to 10, this seemed relatively minor.

After a brief conversation, I agreed to come down and take a look. The twenty-minute drive passed quickly, and I arrived at the school expecting to find Dos comfortably resting in a nurse's office or something.

"She's out there," the teacher pointed, referencing the playground equipment.

As Dos walked over, she casually said hello, and appeared to want to resume playing. I implored her to come over, expecting that my Dad skills were about to be revealed, and that would be that. I poked my finger into her ear gently, searching for the elusive object. My finger abruptly ran into the thing, much deeper than I had originally imagined. It was like running into a cement barrier.

It was clearly a rock. And it clearly wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

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On the ride to the pediatrician, I ventured to look in the rearview mirror and ask the meaning of this latest escapade.

It appeared that Dos had a close friend with a hearing aid. Dos had simply wanted to fit in - and somehow a piece of pea gravel from the playground had seemed to be the best fit for this task.

At the doctor's office, a team of nurses and staff marched in who, along with myself, held Dos down while we wrestled to eject the foreign object from her ear with a long menacing tool.

After what seemed like forever to all of us, the stone popped from ear like a cannon, we all had a nervous laugh—and then they turned and went back to business.

Dos strode out to the car - lollipop in hand - enduring one last lecture from me to find other ways to fit in at school.

The Screamer

My second daughter (Dos on this blog) loves school these days. And this has almost always been the case since the first day she marched in the door at kindergarten.

Her spelling acumen is the stuff of legends. She has not gotten a single word incorrect on a quiz or test — in four years.

At Christmas and birthdays she asks for the dictionary-sized curriculum guide for the grade ahead of her.

You've heard of kids counting down the days until summer vacation? She counts down the days until summer vacation is over.

One day midway through the year in kindergarten, however, things had gone downhill rapidly during our morning routine. I can't recall the exact event that pushed her over the edge, but she emphatically made it clear that she was not attending school that day.

Absentee-ism is not an option at our house, so I proceeded to calmly but firmly herd her into the car with her sister and hit the road.

Her irritation grew as we rounded the corner and parked alongside the curb in front of the elementary building.

By the time we reached the threshold of Ms. S's classroom, I was basically carrying her by the scruff of her neck like a naughty kitten.

After several attempts at reasoning with her the inevitability of attending class, my patience began to wane.

Ms. S looked at both of us and could probably sense the tension building. She lovingly reached out to guide Dos into the room with the other children, busy handing in folders and greeting their beloved teacher. Her nonverbal signals to me said "Get out, and fast. I'll take over from here."

After a last ignored farewell to Dos, I gratefully turned to leave, and as I did, a hideous and contorted series of screams resonated through the hallway. I shuddered but did not lessen the pace of my stride towards the outside door. The screams went unabated until I was beyond the school and entering my car. I could vaguely hear them still from inside my vehicle as I pushed away from the curb.

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Later that morning, I called home to my wife. She had a career as a teacher in our district before taking a leave of absence to care for our children, and knows many other professionals in the district.

After a moment or so she mentioned that she had been speaking with her friend the librarian at our daughter's school. In the background during the call, both had picked up the wailing, echoing sounds of a child. Her friend had remarked, "Well, we have ourselves a screamer here today." Both had chuckled at the intensity of the noise and wondered what could cause such a ruckus.

I broke the news to her about the source of the screams.

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Turns out Dos was fine about 5 minutes after I left. And, strangely enough, she never really did it again.