The Silence After School

My son came home from first grade today with that specific look kids get when they’ve been holding back a tidal wave of tears for hours.

He didn’t speak. Usually, my workspace is the “command center” for his imagination; he talks my ear off about the crochet dolls I make for my Tedooo app shop, offering “upgrades” and grand ideas. But today, there was only a heavy, hollow silence. He simply sat beside me, his backpack slumped on the floor like a discarded shell.

Finally, the story came out. He had been inspired by watching me build my small business. Last week, he looked at me with wide eyes and said, “Mom, maybe I’ll have a shop on Tedooo one day, too.”

Building From Nothing

He wanted to build something “from nothing.” He told me he wanted to make something so incredible that the kids at school would finally want to be his friend. He didn’t want toys; he wanted to be a creator.

For hours, he worked in total concentration. Using only matchsticks, glue, and a mountain of determination, he crafted a bird. He didn’t ask for help. He just sat there, mimicking the quiet hums and whispers I make when I’m deep in my own projects. It was his masterpiece—a fragile, wooden hope.

He brought it to school today, his heart on his sleeve, hoping for a “wow.” He hoped his art would be the bridge to the friendship he craves.

The Shattered Song

Instead of a “wow,” I received a call from a teacher.

By the time I arrived, he was hiding in a corner, sobbing with a force that shook his entire body. Some older kids had laughed at him. They told him his bird was “weird” and that he “wasn’t good at anything.” They even tried to break the delicate matchstick wings.

When I saw him clutching what was left of his bird—shaking, his spirit crushed—I couldn’t breathe. He is only six years old.

At six, he is already wondering if the world has a place for his ideas. At six, he is already learning to hide his joy to protect himself from pain. He looked at me through tears and whispered the most painful sentence I’ve ever heard: “Maybe I won’t have a shop when I’m bigger after all.”

Why the Bird is Perfect

I am sharing this here because I refuse to let the bullies have the last word. This isn’t just about a matchstick bird; it’s about the moment we decide whether to keep creating or to stay quiet forever.

To my son, and to anyone who has ever felt like their art didn’t belong or their joy wasn’t welcome: This matchstick bird is perfect.

It isn’t perfect because it is flawless or professional. It is perfect because it is full of heart. It is perfect because it represents the courage to start with nothing and build something beautiful. It represents a little boy who looked at his mom’s hard work and believed he could do it, too.

A Call for Kindness

We live in a world that can be unimaginably cold to those who are different or sensitive. But the world needs the dreamers. It needs the matchstick birds.

If you see this, please let this little boy know that the world does have a place for his shop. Let him know that his ideas are worth keeping. Let’s show a six-year-old creator that for every person who tries to break a wing, there are thousands of us ready to help him fly.

To my son: Keep building. The world is waiting for your shop.