The Beaver

 A six-year-old in our care was having a difficult time interacting appropriately with the other children a few weeks back. She was being overly aggressive—fighting with her older brother, intruding on the play of other children, and mistreating our playroom and equipment. She repeatedly chose not to listen when my wife, Tasha, and I asked her to get herself under control, so she was banished to the kitchen to play by herself until she could behave appropriately with the rest of the children.

 Our kitchen is not solitary confinement. We have a huge old maple and oak table that is always stacked with a rotating stock of Legos, puzzles, manipulatives, art supplies, play dough, games, and other items the children enjoy. The kids often choose to be in the kitchen using these materials but sometimes they are sent there for some alone time to “cool their jets”. It works pretty well. It’s a nice space away from the group to get your head on straight. Heck, sometimes I like to retreat to the kitchen for a few minutes of alone time so I can make it through particularly tough days. After building a block tower or a Lego space ship I take a few deep breathes and I’m ready to return to battle.

 Anyway, this particular child spent a few minutes playing in the kitchen until it was time to leave for a trip to the local home center. It was Friday afternoon and I had to pick up some supplies for a few weekend projects I had planned. Three of the school-agers were going to join me on the trek because what could be more fun than a lumberyard on a Friday afternoon?

We piled into the van and started driving. After a few minutes, the back seats grew silent. The girl and her brother were both asleep and the third child was fighting to keep his eyes open and his head up. I slowed down and decided to take the scenic route to the store. There was no reason for them to wake up any earlier than they had to.

After their short naps we arrived at our destination and everyone behaved great. They carried things for me, didn’t wander off, asked lots of questions I knew the answers to, and treated each other with respect. It was a nice outing. There was a bit more napping on the drive home, and then we headed into the house.

If you’re starting to wonder if there is a point to this story and if I am ever going to get to it, don’t worry. We’re almost there.

As I sat a few bags down on the kitchen table, I noticed 16 shallow gouges in the table top, each about 1/8 of an inch wide. They were fairly evenly spaced and not very deep. They were also located were my little friend had been sitting before our outing. I asked her if she made the marks in my table. No response. I asked again. No response. The third time I asked if she had done it she nodded and said, “yes”.

My next question was, “how did you make the marks?”

Her answer: “My teeth”

 Beaver girl here had been gnawing on my table. This table my father and I had hauled home from a rural school district auction, this table that had lived the first seven or eight decades of its life in art and science classrooms, this table that had stood up to the use and abuse of thousands of high school students, this table we had stripped of years of paint and chemical spills, this table we had rebuilt and refinished together, had been defiled by the sharp upper central incisors of beaver girl.

 I was in shock. I’ve worked with children of all ages for nearly twenty years and very few things have shocked me. There was the time Tasha unscrewed the top of a bottle of formula and was attacked by baby roaches. There was the time when I was a community center director that I caught a young boy trying to pee into an electrical outlet during summer camp. There was the time I caught a young lady who worked for me in a center smoking weed in the parking lot during her break. And there was beaver girl.

Her parents were nearly as shocked as I was, but the fact is they have had to deal with a lot of inappropriate behaviors and activities from this child. They adopted the two children knowing that the first few years of their young lives had been very traumatic and they love them with their whole hearts. They were brave enough and loving enough to take on the challenge knowing that there would be tough times.

 I was going to have her sand out the marks and help touch up the finish, but I decided to leave the wound as is. It adds character to the table--and another story to my ever growing supply.

Besides, something good came out of this. I’m always looking for new innovations in child care;  new products to make things easier for hard working caregivers. I don’t have the design work done, but if you promise not to tell anyone I’ll share the idea with you.

You know those plastic collars that look like funnels that they put on dogs and cats after surgery so they do not lick their wounds and chew out their stitches? Well, I’m working on a version of that for small children. It will retail for under $20 and come in a number of fun colors. We are also looking into licensing agreements so we can print the images of popular cartoon characters on them. Think about it. It will keep them from sticking their fingers in their noses, it will keep them from chewing on their fingers, it will keep them from biting each other, it will keep bottles and binkies out of the mouths of three-year-olds. The plastic funnel collar will also help contain spills, drool, and snot and act as a shock absorber when the wearer falls over. Most importantly—it will keep them from gnawing on your kitchen table.