At the end of the day, S. sat in the corner and cried and cried and cried. She’d begun the day with tears as well, devastated to realize that she’d missed the opportunity to sign up for the Talent Show auditions. “I don’t know what my talent is, ” she sobbed, “but I want to be in the show!”
With some support, she’d managed to reset for much of the day, but despair had descended on her again powerfully as the day ended. She now sat facing the corner, dejection radiating from every line of her body. I’d already checked in with her and tried to help, but small sobs still shook her shoulders.
“S,” I said to her now, “Your mom is here to pick you up. “
“I’m not going!” she wailed.
“S, if you want to be in the Talent Show, you should talk to your mom about it. They have one every year, so you can try again next year.” I suspected this was little comfort, but wasn’t sure what else to say.
“But my mom won’t take us anywhere. My dad has to watch the other kids and he doesn’t want to. He’s just lazy!” she exclaimed. “I wish,” she sobbed, “I just wish I could meet with someone.”
“You want to meet with someone?” I asked, a bit at sea.
“Yes,” she said, vehemently, “I wish I could meet with someone who could invent a time machine. Then I could go back in time and sign up for the auditions.” Tears streamed down her face.
Eventually, I managed to convince S that the best choice right now was to head out to where her mom was waiting for her. I offered her a hug and then helped her gather up her things and get into her coat and out the door.
Soon after she left, a colleague on dismissal duty came to check in and ask if I knew that S. was very upset as she headed out for pick up. I assured her I did, and that I also planned to drop a quick e-mail to her parents.
“I had no idea she even wanted to be in the Talent Show! She never said anything! ” her mom exclaimed when she responded.
Such big feelings in such a little body.
Not too long ago, I wrote a blog post about the value of feeling small (here). This moment reminded me that there are times that feeling small and powerless is really just no fun.
Nix the comfort zone 
This is such a hard situation for a kiddo. (And for you!) Reading your slice is tickling some memories of something like this happening when I was a classroom teacher. (Maybe I’ll remember, or maybe it will just feel familiar.) I do remember having kids just so upset, they didn’t know how to handle it. Your compassion for your student definitely comes through. Maybe one day she will see this as a learning point, and remember your compassion.
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Oh, little one! This broke my heart. Maybe there’s a way she can participate in another part of the talent show? Emceeing? Making posters for it? Usher?
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I appreciate how this slice reminds us that heavy feelings don’t have an age. “I don’t know what my talent is” is something even 40-year-olds still ask themselves.
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This was such a honest glimpse into a little girl’s life. I deal with those big feelings in little girls every day. It makes to pause, give a hug, and know they will learn to be resilient. Thank you for this!
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Ah, Molly, yes, there are times when feeling small does not lead us to awe–just feeling all the sad feelings of failure. Your reaching out with such love and understanding for little S will be memorable for her. I hope she’ll be able to use this situation and make it to the talent show next year.
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