The Rest of the Story...

...Daniel (my son) attends pre-school at a local church and is subject to the "red light, yellow light, green light" system in order to get into the ever-coveted "Treasure Box" at the end of each week.

If I have heard the words "Treasure Box" once since school began, I must have heard it a million. My child is so utterly focused on gaining access to this pint-sized "promised land" that he nearly went overboard trying to stay on the green light so he could get a sticker each day. You see, one sticker for each day of the week and you are Treasure-Box Bound!

The first week...a hard-fought sticker every day. Treasure Box. Much happiness for a blonde-haired little guy.

Second week...a sticker Monday. A sticker Tuesday. A sticker Wednesday. Then, the important day rolls around. My son and I do the usual mini-pep rally on the way to school. "You can do it!" "You've done so well!" In fact, the last words he said as I walked out the door after dropping him off..."I'm gonna get that sticker, Mommy!" Woo-hooooooooo Go, Daniel, Go!

Not so much.

I enter the building and turn the corner to make the longgggg walk down the hallway. Miss Jennifer, his teacher, meets me at the door. (not a good sign) "Well, we were on the red light today and made a trip to the principal's office."

"Why?!," I asked, knowing that his Treasure Box hopes had been dashed. "He and another little boy got to pushing and ended up in a fight."

Suddenly, Daniel came around the corner...Superman backpack huggin his shoulders and a face so downtrodden you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. As we walked down the hall, I held his hand as he softly said, "Mommy, I was on the red light today. I'm sorry...."

We stopped for a potty break before leaving and, in one of the stalls, I asked him gently what had happened. As he was explaining, he asked if I was mad at him. I told him that I was not mad, but it made me sad to think how hard he had worked to get into the Treasure Box and now he wouldn't be able to. Just then, he start sobbing and fell into my arms. It was not a whiny cry...it was full-on tears of grief. I scooped him up and we sat there in the bathroom stall as he let his emotions go. He then looked up with giant crocodile tears and said "I am so sad that I can't get in the Treasure Box." We then talked about consequences and how he could start over "fresh" next week and that seemed to lift his spirits a little.

The reason this was a poignant moment for me is simple: I was able to be a source of comfort for him. I know I kiss boo-boo's and feed him and clothe him and read to him...all normal Mommy-type things. But this was the first time I ever truly felt like he was depending on me to help him through a rough time. It was pretty special.

When he spoke with his Dad on the phone later, Keith asked Daniel if he had cried when the other kids were able to get their prizes. He softly replied, "no, I didn't cry until I was with Mommy."

I think my son and I both learned a lesson that day. He learned that, no matter how hard you work for something, you can throw it all away by making a bad choice...and I learned not to be so quick to get mad at his wrong decisions and, instead, to use them as a time for comfort and trust-building.

It sure does feel good knowing he considers me a safe place....