We’re the Kids In America

Today was the first day I was actually happy not to go to the schools.

Usually I hate having days off. Even though we always have a legitimate reason to stay home– today, a city-wide strike– I hate spending even a single school day away from them. The way I see it, every day we stay home is a day I don’t get to see Raj’s face light up when we act goofy or hear Pavan babbling away in Telugu (five weeks in and I don’t think he’s figured out yet that I can’t speak the language). I always miss my babies. But today was different.

First, the back story: last Wednesday, I found out from the kids at Sri Sai (the second school) that Teja, one of the little boys with whom I was particularly close, had moved away to the ephemeral “village,” a Telugu notion that means anything from across town to across the country. Since we couldn’t go to the schools the day before because of a religious holiday, I hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye. I was upset, though I tried to hide it from the other kids, and cried in the car on the way home, figuring that even if I came to Hyderabad again (something I’m fully planning to do) I’d still never see him again.

Thursday I was still a little upset. I, of course, went to the schools, but I definitely wasn’t my normal sprightly self. We walked into the teacher’s room, where the kids gather before we get to school, only to be stunned by a loud “AKKA!! HI, AKKA!!!” Somehow, Teja had wound up transferring from the second school to the first. Avi and I were stunned– and of course I was thrilled– and Teja spent the rest of the day hopping around among his Akkas and Annas or sitting (somewhat) quietly next to me.

The excitement engendered by his unexpected return carried through Friday and Saturday, but then I started worrying that the whole situation might have a negative impact on the poor kid. The first day at a new school is always weird, even for someone as outgoing as he is, and I feel that Teja’s familiarity with us served as sort of a crutch: rather than getting to know his classmates, he relied on us to guide him through the day. Don’t get me wrong, I think that we helped his transition; however, I started to worry that if we were around too much too soon, we’d wind up inciting jealousy among the kids or allowing him to interact with them less, thus crippling him socially.

That’s when it struck me that we were really about to leave. I’ve put off thinking about it for my own sanity, but we have just fourteen– or fewer!– days left with these children we’ve all grown to adore. We have to leave for America, to go back to Duke and our homes and our lives. They’re staying. In Teja’s particular case, I don’t want our temporary presence to prevent him from playing with the other kids and making friends that he’ll still have after we’re gone. In a more general sense, I don’t want us to play with them and teach them and love them, then suddenly disappear. I think weaning them off of us– skipping today, for example– might better prepare them for the shock they’ll have when we leave for good. I know that little kids are very resilient, and I doubt they’ll remember all our names five years from now, but I want them to be in as little pain as possible August fifth. And if that means we have to miss them more, so be it.