In the U.S., when I brought my daughter to “school,” I always went into the building, gave her hugs and kisses and made sure to see her off onto her class or classroom. Brazilian educators don’t like this much. They seem to prefer, even at the “bi-lingual/international” school she had attended, that you simply relinquish the fruit of your loins at the door. Up until now, I’ve refused. It was easier when I had a stroller to park inside the steel doors, but even recently when we have been walking to school, I’ve shouldered my way in to see her at least to the hallway that leads to the depths of the small school.
But today, to the delight, I’m certain, of the staff, I let her walk in by herself as I shoved her tiny, little Tinkerbell backpack into the arms of the director, as did the Brazilian mothers that surrounded me.
Did she survive the morning? Sure. Was she traumatized by the short, lonely walk to the main entrance? Maybe not. But I was, just a bit. So I hope that the school doesn’t get too comfortable. It won’t be a regular occurrence.