Throwing Our Kids in the Deep End

From the outside, military kids’ lives often look like a page out of Oh the Places You’ll Go.  From riding camels in Egypt to surfing in Hawaii, to field trips to the flight simulators and seeing the northern lights in Alaska – on any given day, my newsfeed can be filled with military families’ highlight reels of adventures.  While they have some fantastic opportunities, like everyone else in life, the newsfeed doesn’t always capture the struggle. While struggle isn’t unique to military kids, they have many opportunities for growth built into their little worlds that they may not have otherwise. 

When we decided to move to Spain, our kids were 10, 7, 4, and 1. While we consulted the older kids in the decision, none of them were old enough to truly understand what a move like that would mean in their lives. Packing up and moving was so typical that it didn’t really feel any different…until it did.  

They were shielded from much of the initial jolt of living in a foreign country due to homeschooling.  The real estate agent or the cable guy didn’t expect a response from them. They didn’t have to navigate roundabouts or the grocery store or find a church. Their daily routine had the same rhythm it always had.  Not to say they didn’t struggle at all.  Finding friends felt impossible for the older kids in a neighborhood with walls around every house and a church where our kids made up 90% of the children’s church. However, they did have a foundation of normalcy. 

During a Thanksgiving dinner with friends in 2019, a native Spaniard asked where our kids went to school. Since homeschooling is a foreign concept here, that is not always an easy question to answer.  He replied, “That’s good, but what a pity they will walk away from living in a foreign country for three years without learning to speak the language.” 

Over the next several weeks, I couldn’t shake his comment. We had lived in Spain fifteen months at the time, and our Spanish was weak. (It is totally possible to live in a foreign country and not learn the language, especially when you speak English to each other every day at home, you homeschool your kids, your husband speaks English at work, and almost all of your friends are Americans.) Chad and I prayed over the decision for the next several weeks, and both came to the same conclusion – we wanted to send our kids to school.  Not only were they not learning the language, but they were also lonely. We usually have a network of homeschooling families and activities, but there was nothing of the sort in Spain.  

We saw the opportunity to do something for our kids that would benefit them for the rest of their lives.  Beyond just learning a second language (which is a big deal), going to a school in Spain would forever give them perspective and empathy of being the new kid.  It would provide them with the confidence (we hoped) to know that they could do new things even if they seemed hard at first. They would get a deeper appreciation for Spanish culture and have the opportunity to make new friends.  They would also get to ride a school bus, which is every homeschooler’s dream. 

Other friends who had put their kids directly into Spanish schools without their kids knowing the language cheered us on in our decision, assuring us that while the beginning would be hard, three months into school, our kids would be thriving.  

The girls each had the opportunity to say yes or no.  We knew the long-term benefits they would gain but didn’t want to force them into the decision. This wouldn’t just be a new school – it would be the first time they went to any school. Throw in a global pandemic, and everything would be taught in Spanish, and you have a big learning curve staring at them. They would have to navigate learning how to go to school, find their bus, balance homework, make friends on the playground and learn Spanish, all while wearing masks. Three out of the four kids agreed to the idea with varying levels of trepidation. Jake, who was three at the time, did not see the value of spending the entire day away from his mom!

Through the upheaval of Covid the following spring, we enrolled all four kids in school and waited for September to come. We bought new uniforms, backpacks, pencils and eight pairs of new shoes. On the first day of school, I’m not sure who was more nervous.  Having navigated the entire enrollment process in Spanish, I doubted the instructions I gave to them because I doubted my own ability to fully understand the information that had been given to me.  Thankfully they had been to two weeks of summer camp at the school, which gave them a basic knowledge of the layout and some familiar faces.

Addison and Mya quickly found their classes, and Chad and I split up to take Lucy and Jake.  I walked up to the preschool door with Jake tugging on my arm. After a brief exchange with the teacher, I realized we were at the wrong classroom.  

“Mom, that’s not my class,” he had been trying to tell me.  He remembered his teacher’s face from our initial meeting with her and knew that lady wasn’t her. We walked around the building, and he knew when we had found the right class.  

I met Chad at the gate to leave, my eyes already brimming with tears, but his face caused me to pause. 

“Lucy’s teacher wasn’t at their line. I’m not even sure if she is with the right class.” 

With Covid restrictions, we were limited to where we could go in the schoolyard and were asked to leave as soon as we dropped our kids off.  Covid or not, we couldn’t leave until we knew she was settled. 

I weaved my way through the throng of kids to the second-grade class lines. She stood at the end of the line, her blond pigtails framing her face. Two blue eyes bulging with tears peaked over her pink mask. I inhaled deeply to keep from losing it right there on the patio.  She needed me to be strong for her in that moment.  I could cry later. 

I found her teacher, told her that Lucy knew very little Spanish (shocking that she had not been made aware of that before), and the teacher, feeling my concern, brought another girl over to stand with Lucy and help her navigate the day. I gave her a hug and whispered a prayer into her ear.  I wanted those kids to be able to see her beautiful smile.  I wanted them to rush to her and make her feel welcome.  I wanted to save her from the pain and discomfort she was facing. 

But I walked away.  I had to entrust each of them to their Heavenly Father, knowing His eyes would be there, even when I couldn’t see them.  I had a good cry sitting in my van and welcomed them with hugs and cookies when they stepped off the bus that afternoon. 

I have never been more proud of my kids than I was that day.  I couldn’t do what I was asking them to do.  They faced their fears and continued to go back day after day.  Days were hard in the beginning.  Their bodies and minds were exhausted by the end of the day. Homework humbled all of us as we were all forced to drink from the fire hydrant of learning a second language. But six months later, we are all still standing.  They are each conversational for their age, and they love school, minus the fish lunches. Addison has jumped into eighth-grade work with no remedial classes for Spanish and is passing every class.  Mya speaks as fast as a native kid.  Our shy little Lucy has surprised us all by loving school more than anyone else.  Jake’s teacher says now she would never know he wasn’t a native speaker.

We aren’t perfect parents.  We fall short so often, but I am so thankful we took this leap. As parents, we have opportunities to expand our kids’ horizons for the opportunity of growth.  Sometimes it is not the right time or season for hard growth, but sometimes it is.  We can’t let our fear stand in the way of their opportunities. They are capable of so much more than we think they are.  There are times the Lord is calling us to toss them into the deep end of the pool so that we can watch them swim! 

PS – I am in the midst of a 30-day writing challenge. You may see a few more emails from me than normal, but know it is just temporary and I promise not to bombard your inbox forever!