When my son was younger, he used to adore going to daycare. However, one morning, he abruptly awoke and refused to go back. At first, I believed it was just a passing phase, but what I found out has left me feeling shaken.
Johnny, who is three years old, is my only child, and I am a single mother. Daycare was his favorite activity up until a few weeks ago. On the other hand, that abruptly changed one day. Over time, he got more and more reluctant to leave. Up until I saw the facts for myself, I assumed it was nothing more than a temper tantrum.
Johnny would wake up thrilled and loudly humming melodies that were completely meaningless whenever he had to go to daycare. He would pack his backpack with miniature action figures that he was not permitted to carry, and then he would dash down the stairs while yelling, “Let’s go, Mommy!” He would almost drag me out of the house without my consent.
Each morning was like a new and exciting experience for him.
Nevertheless, if I’m being really honest, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit envious of the fact that my son couldn’t wait to get away from me and spend time with other people. Despite this, I refused to hold it against him. I cherished the fact that he was in a secure environment that he couldn’t wait to return to.
Then, however, on a Monday morning that was completely unplanned, everything shifted.
At the time, I was in the process of pouring my coffee. What a scream – a genuine one! that causes your chest to tighten up and become rigid. After dropping my mug, which resulted in it being shattered, I sprinted up the stairs two steps at a time!
Johnny was sobbing uncontrollably and hugging his blanket with both hands as he huddled in the corner of his room. His face was red and drenched with tears. I quickly knelt down and inspected him over as my heart was beating.
Baby, what exactly took place? Does it pain you? To get ready to depart for daycare, my darling, we need to get something ready.
“No, Mommy, no!” he yelled out as he gazed up at me with eyes that were gigantic and filled with panic. Do not force me to go!
I was perplexed and blinked. “Where are you going?”
It was as he attempted to cling to my knees that he cried out, “Daycare!” His voice broke on the word as he cried out. Please don’t force me to do that!
While I was holding him and rocking him till he became peaceful, I spoke soft things to him that did not feel like they were enough. I thought to myself that perhaps it was a nightmare. Either that, or he was very exhausted. Is it true that toddlers have moods? My thoughts went through my head as I dismissed it.
However, that was not the only day about it.
It was the following morning that he refused to get out of bed!
As soon as I brought up the subject of childcare, his lip would start to shake. In the wee hours of Wednesday, he pleaded with tears to stay away. Same thing happens each and every morning. There were screams of desperation, shaking, and despair.
At the end of the day on Thursday, I was worried and fatigued. Dr. Adams, our physician, was the one I phoned.
In a gentle tone, she stated, “It’s normal.” This age group is prone to separation anxiety. It is at its pinnacle right now.”
I responded by saying, “But it doesn’t feel normal.” “This kind of whining doesn’t feel like his typical whining. Fear is what it feels like. Fear in its purest form”
She paused, most likely because she believed that I was being too worried. “Be sure to keep a close check on it. The possibility exists that he is only going through a developmental phase.
If only I could have believed her. Indeed, I did it.
And then Friday arrived. It was almost late for me to get to work, and he was crying out once again in the hallway. I’m sorry to put it out there, but I completely lost it.
Take a break! I made a yell. “You are required to attend a daycare!”
It was the sound of my own voice that caused me to judder. To make matters even worse, Johnny paused in the middle of his sob, as if he were a deer caught in headlights. At no point did he move or blink. Despite his shivering and wide-eyed expression, my poor son merely stared at me.
I was finally able to come to terms with the fact that Johnny wasn’t being stubborn; my infant was afraid, and I sank to my knees in front of him. As I wrapped my arms around him, I apologized and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Dearest, I’m curious as to why you no longer enjoy going to daycare.”
In the beginning, he did not respond. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground instead, and then he whispered something so softly that I almost caught it.
What he said was, “No lunch.” I beg you, Mommy, to not have lunch.”
I became numb. Is it lunch? The pit of my stomach sank.
“There’s no lunch?” I stated it once again.
After giving me a simple nod, he buried his face in my chest as if he were embarrassed. My stomach began to turn. It was obvious to me that he was not a fussy eater; he was just a modest eater. I never forced him to eat when he wasn’t hungry, and he never forced himself to eat when he wasn’t hungry.
With all of this fear, what could lunch possibly have to do with it?
That day, I made the decision to keep him at home. I was fortunate enough to have Kenny, the teenage son of my neighbor, available, and he enthusiastically accepted the task of babysitting. Johnny had a deep affection for Kenny, and the two of them got along like a house on fire.
On the next morning, which was Saturday, I had some work that I needed to catch up on. Additionally, Johnny’s daycare was open on weekends, which enabled parents to run errands or get some relaxation during the week.
Consequently, I experimented with something new, something that was more mild. At that moment, I lowered myself to his level and looked him in the eye.
The promise that I made was, “I will pick you up before lunch today.” “There is no need for you to remain for it. Is that okay?
Still sniffling, he paused for a moment before finally nodding his head. Over the course of the entire week, it was the first time that he had let me to buckle him into his car seat without crying.
When he was dropped off, he did not rush to the door as he had in the past. He looked at me instead, his eyes large and glassy, and they were filled with pleading. Up to the very last second, his tiny small hand was firmly gripping mine. His expression, which was one of complete and utter desperation, nearly broke me.
My attention was riveted on the clock for the subsequent three hours. My daycare was waiting for me when I left work early at 11:30 a.m., packed up my belongings, and drove there.
At mealtimes, parents were not permitted to enter the building. On the other hand, the walls of the eating room were built with glass panels, so I went around the building and peered in through the side door.
My blood began to boil as a result of what I saw!
When I was looking around the room, I put my face against the window. As soon as I was finally able to see what was going on with my son, I let out a loud gasp:
“There is no way!”
At the very end of a long lunch table, my dear Johnny was seated with his head bowed toward the table. I was unable to identify the elderly woman who was sitting next to him. She did not have a staff badge on her person, and her gray hair was tied back into a tight bun.
The look on her face was serious, even unpleasant.
She took Johnny’s spoon in her hands and pushed it with all her might toward his mouth, pressing it firmly on his lips.
Despite the fact that he turned his head and grieved in silence, tears continued to fall freely, she did not stop!
“You are not going to leave until that plate is completely empty,” she reprimanded.
Yes, that was it. I opened the door with such force that it banged all the way into the wall! Several members of the staff jumped with joy.
Dear Lady! You have no right to be in this room —”
I couldn’t care less! While my heart was beating and my hands were clenched, I marched across the room.
He let out a gasp when he saw me, Johnny. Upon taking him into my arms, his little body trembled with the relief that he felt.
I turned to the woman and stated, “I will take this to the state if you ever force my child to eat again.” My words were directed toward the mother.
She appeared to be in a state of shock. It is our policy that children are required to consume the food that is provided to them.
“What is the policy?” As I repeated, my voice became louder. It is not a policy to force-feed children till they cry out in protest. It’s a form of abuse!
Her mouth appeared to be open, as if she wanted to say anything more, but I did not allow her the opportunity to do so.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve held the belief that children are able to recognize when they are full. Consequently, the final straw was when someone ignored it and continued to force food on him until he started crying.
I turned to the personnel at the daycare, who were astonished. What is her name? Where can I find her badge?
No one got back to me.
Taking Johnny with me, I exited the room.
I sat on the edge of his bed that night, after we had washed him and read him some stories before bedtime.
I spoke to her in a soft voice and asked, “Honey, why do you not want to eat at daycare?”
“The lady says I’m bad if I don’t finish,” he mumbled as he snuggled up under his covers and kept his head concealed. She informs the children that I am squandering food. All of the people chuckle.
In the final moments, his voice broke.
I felt as though someone had hit me! The food did not frighten him in any way. He dreaded the possibility of being embarrassed! During his mealtimes, that woman had turned them into a form of punishment.
By the time Monday morning rolled around, I had called into work and informed them that I needed to work from home, particularly when my son was right there with me. After that, I called Brenda, who leads the daycare facility.
In response to my explanation of what I had observed, she promptly stated, “We do not force children to eat,” using an expression of surprise.
“She grabbed his spoon and pushed it into his face,” I said. “She put it in his face.” “He was visibly upset.”
When Brenda responded, she suddenly became quiet and said, “That doesn’t sound like any of my staff.”
In my description of the woman, I mentioned that she had glasses on a chain, a floral blouse, and a gray bun.
There was a significant lull in the conversation.
It’s possible that… “Miss Claire,” she clarified with great care. “She is not the official staff member. “She lends a helping hand.”
My grasp on the phone became more firm. Is it a volunteer? Are there volunteers who are in charge of youngsters without supervision?
It was Brenda who revealed, “She is my aunt.” “Now that she is retired, she occasionally lends a hand.”
Was she subjected to a background check? I made a demand. She has a background in child care, right? Because she was in the process of correcting my son.
A defensive muttering came from Brenda, who stated, “She has always been good with the kids.” It’s just that she has a more traditional approach.
It was me that interrupted her. It is not. There will be no more excuses. There is no need for her to be alone with children! May I request a copy of your policy regarding volunteers? In addition, I require written confirmation that she will never again be in the vicinity of my son.
Brenda chose not to respond. While I was on the phone with her, I could hear her breathing.
I was unable to get to sleep that night. I couldn’t stop picturing Johnny’s face, which was tense with anxiety and filled with tears, and I couldn’t stop hearing his little voice saying, “No lunch.”
I was unable to let go of it. I sent a report to the state licensing board the following day after it was issued.
Someone told me that I wasn’t the first person to do something. There had been other complaints received. There were a few minor issues, such as children being left in dirty clothes, children not taking their naps, and heavy staff turnover, but none of these issues had prompted an inspection.
To this point.
It was my report that caught their notice about a volunteer who had not been vetted scolding children.
After a few days, they arrived.
The discoveries were even more unpleasant than I had anticipated!
The daycare facility consistently exceeded its capacity. A number of employees did not possess the appropriate certificates. It was against the law for volunteers, such as Miss Claire, to interact with children yet they were allowed to do so without supervision. In addition, a number of children conceded that they had been “forced to finish” their meals, regardless of whether they were feeling ill or completely full.
Not just Johnny was involved. He had never been the only one there.
The state issued a warning, stating that in order to avoid shutdown, everything must be corrected immediately.
When Brenda contacted me, she was irate.
On the other hand, she demanded to know, “Why would you go to the state instead of talking to me?”
“I did talk to you,” I said in a composed manner. It was you who shielded her.
Following that, there was nothing else that could be said.
The twist that continues to make me gasp is now shown to you.
After one week had passed, I was at the grocery store when I came upon Lila, another mother from the daycare. Sophie, her daughter, was actually enrolled in Johnny’s class.
She was standing close to the bread aisle when she drew me aside and said, “Thank you.”
I blinked my eyes. “For what purpose?”
Under her breath, she whispered, “My daughter also used to cry during lunch.” I had the impression that she was just being picky. However, after the inspection, she informed me that Miss Claire had a habit of reprimanding her. She expressed that she would be ungrateful if she did not consume everything.
There was a crack in Lila’s voice. “I am in a terrible state. I urged her to quit being so choosy over and over again. However, she was frightened.
One of my hands was placed on her arm. You had no idea about it.
Biting her lip, she gave a little nod. “But your son, he found the courage to speak up for me,” the speaker said.
During that evening, I had a fresh perspective on Johnny. It wasn’t just that he had saved himself. He had begun something that would safeguard not only himself but also other people with that one little whisper.
As a result of the daycare’s inability to fulfill the stated conditions, the license was revoked. The majority of families were relieved, but there were some that panicked and scrambled. Every one of us deserved better.
For Johnny, I was able to locate a new daycare. one with teachers who have had training and honest communication. someone who was respectful of boundaries. From this point forward, he enters the building with his arms spread wide and a smile that extends from ear to ear.
The staff there did, in fact, attentively listen. Each youngster is greeted by their name, and questions are asked of them. In addition to maintaining open communication with parents, they have a lunch policy that is flexible. On the very first day that Johnny was enrolled there, one of the instructors knelt down to his level and said, “You eat as much or as little as your stomach wants, okay?”
One of his smiles was genuine.
Afterward, he walked with his head held high as he made his way to his new school.
It is now possible to experience joy each and every morning. Even though I keep reminding him that he can only bring one toy with him, he still begins each day with a joyful disposition, singing songs and packing his toys.
As I watched him stroll into that new school with complete assurance, without any fear or hesitation, it brought to my mind how rapidly children may recover when they are in a secure environment.
As for me?
This is the most significant thing I’ve ever learned in my entire life.
Be sure to pay attention to your child at all times. Even when the complaint is minor, when it appears to be irrelevant, and despite the fact that the adults dismiss it as unimportant.
Simply because there are occasions when that minuscule voice is the only warning you will receive.
I can still hear Johnny’s words echoing in my head.
It’s not lunchtime, Mommy.
They were easy to know. However, they revolutionized everything.
