I'm face-to-face in the dark with my 5-year-old, a kindergartner. We're tucked into his flannel dinosaur sheets, his soft fingers cup my cheeks as he presses his nose into mine.
“Mommy, school is hard; everything is hard for me.” Lines of concern fill his small brow.
“I know it feels that way right now, but it will get easier.” It's a promise I've no business making, but it's what the situation requires, so I lie.
I close my eyes and imagine we're in Finland. I visualize him in a class where he gathers sticks and swings from monkey bars in an environment designed for curious, energetic 5-year-olds like him. Formal reading instruction will not begin until he's 7, so there's still time for playing. I open my eyes to find his round cheeks outlined in the dim glow of his owl night light. We're indulging in extra cuddles after a discouraging day of attempts to find high-frequency words on a wall, write sentences and use transitional words before he has learned all of his letters.
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