Common questions kids have before going back to school (and how to answer them simply)
Last Tuesday, I was folding Javi’s stained soccer uniform on the couch after his final summer baseball practice, when he looked up from his blue raspberry popsicle and said, “I have some questions before going back to school.” He had sticky juice dripping down his wrist onto my throw blanket, and his baseball glove was tucked between his knees like a security blanket. I put the uniform down. “Shoot,” I said.
First question: If I forget my lunch box, do they throw me out of the cafeteria? I almost laughed, because we’ve practiced packing it together three times already this month, but he didn’t smile when he asked. He twisted the strap of his glove between his fingers and waited for my answer. Next: Does Ms. Henderson care if I finish my math really slow? I check every answer twice, and my last teacher always rushed me. Third, he mumbled it into his popsicle stick, eyes on the floor: What if the bathroom stall lock is broken and someone walks in while I’m going? Do I get sent to the principal’s office?
I didn’t brush any of them off this time. Last year, going into third grade, he asked if he’d mess up his locker combination and make the whole class laugh. I told him “You’ll get it, stop worrying” and didn’t think about it again until his teacher pulled me aside after the first week and said he’d hidden by the water fountain for 10 minutes before morning break because he couldn’t open it and was too scared to ask for help. That mistake stuck with me. Kids don’t ask “silly” small questions for no reason. Those are the questions that keep them up at night, because their brains can’t fill in the what-ifs on their own.
I didn’t give him the generic “everything will be fine” speech, anyway. I know that speech doesn’t do anything. When your kid is stuck on what happens if the worst (to them) case scenario comes true, vague reassurance just sounds like you’re not listening. So I answered each question with a specific, tiny plan, not just comfort.
For the lunch box question, I said “That’s a really good question. Last year, when Mia from down the street forgot her lunch, she told the lunch lady, and the office gave her a free cheese sandwich while they called me. Even if I’m at work and can’t come right away, they don’t kick you out. Want to practice what you’d say?” We practiced it once, he said the line out loud, “Can I please get a lunch? I forgot mine at home” and that was enough for him to relax his grip on his glove.
For the slow math question, I said “I get why that matters to you. Some of us just need more time to get it right, and that’s okay. Instead of me telling you what Ms. Henderson will say, let’s write a short note you can give her on the first day. You don’t even have to say it out loud if you don’t want to.” We wrote two lines, he drew a tiny baseball in the corner, folded it up and stuck it in the front pocket of his new backpack. He still talks about that note sometimes, like it’s a secret weapon.
For the bathroom question, I didn’t laugh or make a big deal out of how awkward that is. I just said “I remember that happening to me when I was your age, it’s the worst. If the lock doesn’t work, you can prop your backpack against the bottom gap to hold the door shut, or walk to the teacher bathroom near the office—those locks always work. And if someone does walk in, it’s not your fault, you won’t get in trouble. That’s on the broken lock, not you.”
I ran into my neighbor who teaches fourth grade at the grocery store a couple days later, and she said this is exactly what kids need. She told me 9 out of 10 questions kids hold back on the first week are these tiny, embarrassing questions, not the big questions about friends or bullying that parents always fixate on. Kids don’t know these small problems are okay to talk about, and they don’t have any experience problem-solving them, so they blow them out of proportion in their heads long before the first day even starts.
What I’ve learned from three first days with Javi is that when kids come to you with questions before going back to school, they aren’t asking you to take away all their worries. They’re asking you to give them a plan for when the small bad things actually happen. You don’t need to be anything special to pull this off. You just don’t get to call the question silly, even if it seems ridiculous to you.
I used to think I needed to fix all his worries before the first bell rang, but that’s impossible. Some worries don’t go away until you live through the first week. Two days out from the first day this year, Javi still asked the lunch box question again while we were getting ice cream yesterday. I just repeated the part about the cheese sandwich and the lunch lady, and he nodded, took a bite of his cookie dough cone, and started talking about how he’s going to beat his best friend at four square at recess.
I don’t know how the first week will go. He might forget his lunch anyway, he might still feel rushed on math some days, he might still have an awkward bathroom run. But he doesn’t have to carry those what-ifs around all by himself anymore, and that’s enough for right now.
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