In The Eyes of a Second Grader

We discovered that I was pregnant with Rachel while we lived in Reno, Nevada and I was working full-time as a music teacher at a local elementary school.  Our school was a multi-track year-round school and thus had an incredibly large student population of over 800 in kindergarten through fourth grade—and I taught them all.  Man, did I love those kids…we had so much fun together in my music classroom that I often forgot that what I was doing was a job and not just a super cool way to spend your day!  And, not to toot my own horn, but those kids loved me right back.  A lot. So much that sometimes it would take me 10 minutes just to walk from my car to the classroom due to all of the rambunctious hugs that I received from my “adoring fans”.  We were a great pair—me and those 800+ kids.

So, when I learned that I was going to be a mommy I thought it would be really fun to allow the kids a chance to come along for the pregnancy ride with me.  From day one I kept them posted on how the new little one was doing; I’d tell them how the baby was developing that week and draw a little picture on the board to show them how big the baby was on any given day.  My belly got lots and lots of hugs, kisses, silly songs and pats.  All day long students would walk into my room and say things like, “Have you had enough water today, Mrs. Taaffe?  The baby needs water” and “Don’t forget to play classical music to your baby so that it will be very, very smart.”  When I announced that the baby was going to be a girl the cheers and shouts from one of my classes echoed so loudly down the hallway that the custodian came and poked his head into my classroom just to make sure that everything was OK.  It warmed my heart to see an entire school falling in love with my unborn child and added a sense of joy to each day that sufficiently counter-balanced anything else that could go wrong in my day.

And then came November 10th, the day after we received the news that changed our lives forever.  As I drove my car to work I kept thinking that I should turn the car around…there was no way that I was in any condition to face the day as though it was somehow “normal” when it was absolutely not normal at all.  How could I chit chat in the hallway with teachers about the upcoming Christmas concert without bursting into tears?  How could I sing cheery, happy little songs with those kids as though there was anything inside my heart that felt cheery?  How could I possibly face the cute little questions from the students about what size fruit my baby was that day or if she kicked me all night long? I just didn’t see how I could hold up under all of that…but I kept driving.  When I pulled into my parking spot I took a deep breath and told myself, “Just don’t talk about it and you’ll make it through the day.”

When my very first class of the day came bounding into my classroom I could feel their second-grader energy and excitement lift my spirits a bit.  With determination, I plastered a smile on my face and welcomed the students in, getting them seated quickly so that we could jump right into the music—that way there’s no time for any questions.  I began playing the opening lines to one of their very favorite, rowdy songs and was about to being the first verse when a student said loudly, “Mrs. Taaffe!!  You haven’t talked about your baby yet!  We can’t start till you tell us how she is doing!” the rest of the class excitedly agreed and looked at me with expectant and excited eyes.  I froze.  If I run out of the room, do you think they’ll notice? 

The next few seconds lasted for an eternity in my head as I sought exactly what to say to these young ones.  Should I lie and tell them that everything is fine?  Should I blow off their question and tell them that we need to be serious about our music today?  Thoughts were racing and palms were sweating as I stood at the keyboard trying to figure out what to say.  Finally, I little voice in my heart said, "Trust them with the truth."  And so I did.

First, I told them that Rachel was healthy, growing wonderfully and that she was the size of a small eggplant.  They smiled and giggled at my silly drawing on the white board of an eggplant with a funny grin on it’s face.  Then my smile slipped away from my face a little.

“We went to the doctor last week and did some tests on Rachel…and yesterday we found out that Rachel is going to have…Down Syndrome.” My throat caught a little bit as I said those words out loud, but I swallowed and moved on.

“Do you guys know what Down Syndrome is?” they shook their sweet little heads in response.  Here we go. The first of many, many, many times that I would explain what was different about my little one.

I shared with them that our bodies are made up of a bunch of things called “cells” and that in these cells are tiny, tiny, tiny little things called “chromosomes” that tell our bodies what they should do and look like.  I told them that there was a chromosome that tells your hair to be brown or blond, your skin to be light or dark and other things like that.  Well, Rachel’s chromosomes were a little bit different than theirs, so she was going to grow a little differently.  I explained that Rachel would probably take longer to learn how to do things like walk, talk and ride a bike; that her heart may not be as healthy as some other people’s hearts and that she may have a hard time in school.  But I also said that people with Down Syndrome were very happy, loving, kind people.  That they love to hug, they love to smile and they love to make other people happy.

The room was completely silent as they sat there taking in everything that I had said.  I don’t doubt that they knew how emotional I was as I choked back tears with every single word that came out of my mouth.  No one asked any questions, no one whispered to their neighbor…they just sat there, quietly respecting a moment of sadness for their music teacher’s aching heart.

And then she raised her hand.  She was a very sweet, quiet girl sitting in the back row who hardly ever said anything in class.  Holding my emotions in as best I could I called on her to speak, and this is what she said:

“Well, Mrs. Taaffe, it really doesn’t matter how long it takes you to learn how to ride a bike.  And lots of people have a hard time in school.  But if those people are as happy, loving and kind as you say they are…then I think we should all have Down Syndrome.”

Out of the mouths of babes, they say.  No longer able to hold myself together I squeaked out a “thank you” and buried my face in my hands while the sound of my sobs filled the large, resonant music room.  One by one that class of second graders came up and put their arms around me, each one adding to the hug like a new addition to a rubber band ball until the entire class was huddled around me in a huge, 25-person bear hug.  The only sound in the room continued to be my cries until the class clown of the room broke the tension and said, “Ow!  Mrs. Taaffe, Rachel just kicked me!!” The whole class burst out into giggles and even I was able to wipe away a few tears and give a few good chuckles.

As each class traipsed in and out of my classroom I shared this same information.  Each time it got easier and easier to talk about, and every class provided a new and fresh reminder that these kids loved Rachel—no matter how many chromosomes she had.  I will always be forever thankful for that sweet little girl who was able to see Rachel with exactly the eyes that I pray the rest of the world will see her with—ones that recognize her beauty and the love that she brings to those around her.