Lesson in Bravery

Josue arrived early, tugging his mother along. Tabitha, blond ringlets bouncing, rode in on her father’s shoulders. And magenta-sweatered Taury clung to her dad’s hand until a teacher swept her up in a hug.

Even Victoria, seated in an impossibly undersized wheelchair, returned Wednesday to the Southcoast Early Childhood Learning Center after more than a week’s absence.

Before finger-painting and singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” the preschool’s toddlers first learned a lesson no child so young should have to take in: Two of their classmates were not returning to school. Could not return to school.

Tragedy hit the homey Costa Mesa day-care May 3 when, police say, driver Steven Allen Abrams deliberately plowed his Cadillac into a play yard full of children. Students Sierra Beth Soto, 4, and Brandon Wiener, 3, were killed in the crash, which occurred just as parents were signing their kids out for the day.

A teacher and two children suffered injuries serious enough to require hospital stays; they since have been released. Day-care director Sheryl Hawkinson suffered a mild heart attack at a memorial service for the children and is now recuperating at home. Abrams has been charged with murder and attempted murder.

Five-year-old Victoria Sherman, who suffered a fractured skull and pelvis in the crash, came for a brief afternoon visit, pushed in her wheelchair by her mother, Caroline Price. The girl seemed cheered by seeing her friends, who greeted her enthusiastically, but was tearful by the time she returned to the car.

“She asked me to bring her,” Price said. “It feels good to be back at school and see the teachers, but maybe I shouldn’t have brought her back so soon.”

Price said Victoria “doesn’t remember anything” about the incident.

“She thinks she fell off the swing and bumped her head,” Price said. The girl cannot walk or stand up, but Price said that doctors expect her to recover, although they asked the mother to look for symptoms of possible brain damage.

The other parents who returned their children to the school’s first day back Wednesday--and the vast majority of them did--said they were determined not to let lingering fear keep them from a place full of love.

Gerry Lattimer walked his 2-year-old daughter Tabitha back to the day-care center, even after explaining that her school had been “broken.”

“These are the bravest people I’ve ever seen,” he said, nodding toward the center. “All week, my daughter has been wanting to come back. She’s been asking about her teachers, wanting to see her friends.”

Spiky haired Josue Benter, 4, also missed his preschool. Now he’s longing for Brandon and Sierra.

“I want them to come back to my school,” he said matter-of-factly, while his mother marveled that a softball game had prompted her to pick up her son 10 minutes earlier than usual on the day of the crash.

“This is the best day-care I could have picked,” Deana Benter said. “Sheryl and her staff are wonderful. I’m just glad she has the courage to reopen and bring things back to normal. The kids deserve it. They shouldn’t have to be hurt any more than they already have been.”

Teachers at the school tried to make Wednesday as typical a school day as possible.

“The kids are extremely resilient,” said day-care co-director Rande Hawkinson. “I think this is easier for them than for their parents.”

Indeed, while his 3-year-old daughter, Taury, peacefully drifted toward the blocks, father Ron Hlinka found himself beset by anger toward Abrams.

“I’m a very peaceful man,” Hlinka said, entering his truck. “But all I can think of is jailhouse justice. You feel bad any time something like this happens. But when it’s this close to home, the anger sets in. . . . I don’t know if anything will ever be normal here again.”

Certainly, the 75-student school looked different: A new chain-link fence ringed by hundreds of bouquets left by mourners and well-wishers blocked off the sandy play yard. Paramedics, police officers and firefighters milled around, passing out badges and plastic fire helmets to children. Some kids even took an impromptu tour of a bright red fire engine. Camera crews peered into classrooms until teachers twirled Venetian blinds shut.

In small groups inside, children sat in a circle around grief counselor Roberta Hindin Probolsky, a volunteer with the Orange County chapter of the Trauma Intervention Program.

Holding stuffed bears and rabbits, she explained that sometimes people get hurt. And they don’t always get better.

“We’re here to let you know it’s OK to feel sad,” she said. “It’s OK to feel scared. It’s OK to be worried about your families and friends. This was a very, very scary thing that happened.”

“I was afraid,” one scratchy-voiced boy confessed.

“The grown-ups were afraid too,” the counselor empathized. “It was such an evil thing that all the good grown-ups couldn’t stop it.”

Times staff writer H.G. Reza contributed to this report.