The littlest Daughter

The Littlest Daughter
Julie Firman

They were a happy family: four Pogue daughters all in the same school in different grades. They were talented and friendly girls. The youngest, Janice, who was in my class, seemed to be glued to her mother’s skirts. The three older girls took the bus to school every morning and gaily rushed to their classrooms, but Janice was always driven to school by her mother, arriving just in time for the kindergarten morning song. Her mother usually stayed around until Janice seemed to be content and was involved in some activity, and then she would tiptoe out. But she would return in time to take Janice home.


One Friday, Janice’s mother called and asked for a conference with me. She entered in an agitated and fragile way. She almost seemed to wring her hands in distress. She said in a too-soft voice, “My husband is going to Europe on business for two weeks, and he insists that I go with him. I have tried to explain over and over that Janice needs me here. But he is equally adamant that she will be fine without me so I have no choice; I have to go. I have told the babysitter that she is to drive her every morning and watch her until she is settled into the classroom. She has explicit instructions about picking her up and getting to school early so Janice won’t worry. Will you please give Janice special attention and help her during this time of our separation? We have never been apart a single day since she was born five years ago. She is so young and fragile, and I want to be sure everything goes well for her.”

She stopped for a quick breath, but I stepped in and assured her that we would make every effort to support Janice and see that she was happy and healthy while her mother was away. I even volunteered to meet Janice at her car so she would see a familiar face. Janice’s mother thanked me for our understanding and reassurance. As she left we talked about the logistics of watching for Janice and agreed that it would present some extra effort on my part but was worth the time it might take.

Monday morning, anticipating a tearful, anxious child, I planned a special program of fun and games. I waited outside to greet Janice, but just then the bus arrived and not three, but four Pogue girls got off of it. Janice skipped along joyfully, yelling “good-bye” to her sisters as she ran with two friends into the classroom. I walked slowly into the classroom and called Janice over to ask how the bus ride went. Impatiently she said, “Oh, I always wanted to take the bus with the other kids, but Mother needs to be with me. You see there won’t be any more babies, and so I have to be a baby a little longer. While she is away, I’ll just ride the bus every day. I am five, you know.”

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