After the door opened, William’s teacher, a lovely Japanese woman, opens the door and tells me he had a “great day,” obviously recognizing the angst in my face. My son then burst threw, throwing his lunch box at me while saying:
“I made a new friend today mommy!”
“You did?”
“Yes, he’s right over there: ‘Hi Michal!’” William yells while skipping away and then stops to wave at another child who screamed ‘Hi William!’ from the window of a school bus.
I was starting to feel better already.
“Where’s Michal from?” I ask.
“You’re never going to believe this. He’s part Polish and part Dust!” William says seriously.
I start giggling. “Is that right? Dust. Are you sure?”
“YES Mommy,” he says with a bit of exasperation that I imagine I’ll hear quite a bit during conversations in his teen years. “The Dust are from Holland, didn’t you know?”
As we walked home through our garden in Notting Hill, William tells me all about his little ‘Dust’ friend and how much fun they are going to have together tomorrow playing Power Rangers—a universal force apparently appealing to boys everywhere.
I feel certain that he is having a roaring start to his new international life. Now if only I could enroll in a French class with such enthusiasm!
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