Last Monday I took Briana to kindergarten for the last time. At least this kindergarten. I know that it's so important for her to go. In addition to learning all she'll ever really need to know (argued successfully or unsucessfully by Robert Fulgham in his once trendy book), I take her so that in 2 years she'll speak far better Romanian than I've thus far grasped. But when we leave a morning session and I'm thanking God under my breath that she didn't understand half the Romanian that came out of her teacher's mouth, I'm thinking maybe this isn't the right place. Last Monday decided it. When a little trembling-like-a-leaf boy couldn't answer the question his brooding teacher posed to him and she yelled at him, "You gypsy, get out of here!*" and pointed to the door, I decided we were the ones that would be leaving. I've studied Mr. Fulgham's list of life lessons first learned in kindergarten and ethnic discrimination is not there. (Nor is arbitrary berating, favoritism, and other not-so-pleasant things, things I was not happy with but trying to weigh against the greater benefits of Briana being with other children her age.) So for now the question of Briana's schooling is still a question, but at least this trail of inquiry (this particular kindergarten with this particular teacher at this particular time) has gone cold and Briana is home again with me until we pick up our next scent and embark down a new trail, hopefully with a sweeter end.
*Consequently, this poor little boy isn't of Roma decent, but there are Roma children in the class and I'm sure it's not good for them to hear their teacher equate misbehaving or lack of cleverness with their ethnicity.
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