The day was a beautiful 65 degrees, with a gentle breeze and a clear blue sky. I gathered my two children—a spirited three-year-old boy and a feisty almost-two-year-old girl—along with our bright red wagon filled with sippy cups and snacks, and embarked on a trip to the zoo. We weren’t alone; it seemed like half the town had the same idea, eager to enjoy the lovely weather.
As we made our way through the zoo, my daughter relished the ride in the wagon, while my son approached each animal enclosure with a sense of determination, peering curiously through the fences. Just the day before, he had been clinging to my leg in the occupational therapist’s office, overwhelmed and anxious. The visit was prompted by his well-meaning preschool teachers who expressed concerns that he might not be ready for school.
My son, with his warm honey-colored eyes that light up at the sight of lions, tigers, and giraffes, is notably sensitive and often exhibits behavior that can seem immature for his age. He just celebrated his third birthday two months ago. At home, his immediate reaction to any minor disappointment—be it a fallen cookie or an unkind glance from his sister—often leads to whining or tears.
In the school environment, however, he transforms. He requires a hug and reassurance before he steps into the classroom. He is the quiet child who doesn’t cry, doesn’t take toys from others, and prefers to engage in solitary activities such as train tables, playgrounds, or reading. During circle time, when he is called to stand up and be acknowledged, he visibly recoils. It’s as if he’s a butterfly retreating back into a cocoon—shutting down completely. His muscles tense, and his expression becomes vacant.
One day, I decided to observe circle time. The teacher kindly encouraged him, but he remained motionless, hoping to be overlooked. When prompted to stand and walk over, he shuffled slowly, resembling Charlie Brown. He struggled to pick out a yellow triangle from a selection of shapes and appeared paralyzed by the task, as if he were frozen in place. Watching from a distance, I bit my hangnail, desperate to shout, “Just do it! You know how!” but stayed silent.
After several nudges from the teacher, he finally picked up the shape and placed it on the board, only to remain stagnant thereafter. I silently urged him to move again. Once seated, his posture relaxed, and I could see the tension leave his body, shifting the focus back to the teacher.
As a parent, I know my child intimately. I spend nearly all my time with him, aside from the hours he spends at Mother’s Day Out. His teachers, while well-meaning, do not witness his emotional challenges or his extreme shyness. The arrival of his baby sister, just 16 months younger, has perhaps contributed to his lingering babyish traits. But he also just processes life differently.
To address these concerns, we sought an unbiased assessment from an occupational therapist. Once I managed to detach him from my leg, I encouraged him to sit in a small chair. The therapist was kind and patient, providing him with a crayon to color. He held it awkwardly in his right hand, while his left arm shielded his forehead; he timidly touched the page with sporadic dots. Again, I watched, biting my lip to suppress the urge to correct him.
He was assigned several tasks—cutting, drawing, identifying objects—many of which he struggled with. The therapist compassionately handed me a checklist of developmental milestones, indicating he was “mildly developmentally delayed.” I questioned whether a just-turned-three-year-old truly needed to master scissors.
But today was different. At the zoo, amidst the joyful chaos of children marveling at animals and the warmth of the sun, my son blended in seamlessly. He looked just like every other child, laughing and marveling at the world around him. Did they too harbor silent struggles?
Parenting can often feel like an emotional rollercoaster, filled with heartache. Yet today, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Perhaps it was the vibrant sunshine, the cooling breeze, or simply my sweet boy showering me with hugs and “I love yous” that lifted my spirits. For a fleeting moment, I recognized the beauty in my child, who, despite being labeled “imperfect,” is perfect just as he is.
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Summary
Parenting a sensitive child can be a challenging yet rewarding experience. Through observation and understanding, parents can navigate the emotional landscape of their child’s unique needs. A day at the zoo can remind us of the beauty and joy in our children, despite any developmental concerns.
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