Mr. Tomlinson, can you please call the school....

Yesterday morning, I had a voicemail message asking me to call the school.  I was not looking forward to my eight hour shift at Target, so I was hopeful the message was about a sick kid that would need me to skip work and sit on the couch all day watching Cartoon Network.  But I was not so lucky.

Apparently, my son had been involved in an incident before school...fighting over who got to hold the door open as the class went in to the building.  According to what the assistant principal told me, my son was pushed and then hit in the face with a lunchbox.  She went on to say that he said it hurt a lot and that he had been crying.  But they had all talked it out and he was fine now, and back in class.

When I became a Stay-at-home-parent, one of the big plusses was that I would be home when my kids got home from school.  But as is the case when you work retail in December, my shifts have been getting longer.  And while normally I am home at 3:30 when they get off the school bus, yesterday I was scheduled to work until 4:30.  Again, normally that extra hour would not be a big deal.  They are old enough now to hang out by themselves for an hour.  But in my mind, that hour would be horrible for my son.  He would be an emotional wreck after such a traumatic day at school.

As I went through my work day, I kept picturing him curled up in a ball on the couch crying his eyes out.  And I would not be there to comfort him.

I must admit my mind went to what I could buy him to make him feel better.  (isn't that what good parents do?)  Supper at McDonalds?  A new Skylander?  A new DS game?

I also thought this situation would be much easier to deal with if my son was the one that did the pushing and the hitting.  Then you just yell at them.

But what to do when you son is the victim?  All I wanted to do was hug him and protect him.

When 4:20 came, I snuck out of work early (don't tell anyone) and raced home.

Found Andrew playing Minecraft on the computer like always...not in the fetal position in the corner.
"Hey buddy, how was your day?" I asked, trying not to pry it out of him in front of his sister in case he was embarrassed.
"Fine," not even looking up from his game.

A few minutes later:
"Anything happen at school today?"
"No."

Then at bedtime, I finally asked if he wanted to talk about what happened holding the doors open.
He asked how I found out....and that was it.

Nothing.

So either he is fine, or he's bottling it all up and it will spill out in the future.

Then I gave him an extra long hug.  I figured that would help either way.