I have two children.
They are both a handful in their way.
Jack came first, and because he was a great kid, we had another
one. Seriously. I don’t think Lila would have come along if I
hadn’t been sure that we could make another one just as awesome. And we did.
Different, but no less awesome.
There are the obvious differences: age, gender, personality,
abilities. Today’s post is about the
personality and abilities. But also about
how those difference play out in school.
We’re two years in to both of them being in public school and their
paths have been vastly different already.
Lila is “average.” Jack is “exceptional.” Their little universes are worlds apart. (See
what I did there?) I guess it’s no surprise
that their school experiences would be so different. But it has been. At least to me.
And I know I’m not alone in this because I have so many
friends who have kids who are on the spectrum or have kids who are special
needs: ADD, dyslexia, sensory issues, etc.
In fact, parents with a whole bushel of average kids are the odd ones
out. But even if you don’t have a kid
who has a diagnosis, if you have multiple kids you know they are very different
creatures. They learn differently,
interact with people differently, and have to be parented differently.
So in our house we are struggling with those
differences. Jack is a freaking genius
at some things, but he can’t modulate behavior changes to adapt to what is
around him. “Simple” things-- like
stopping when someone says stop—are really hard for him, and it’s nearly
impossible for us not to get frustrated.
He makes weird sounds. He doesn’t
respond to people who try to talk to him.
He doesn’t have a handle on his emotions and he doesn’t have the same
level of emotional independence as his peers (he’ll still crawl in my
lap.) However, he still has those damn
pre-teen emotions: desire to be liked, social disappointments, pressure to
please his parents and teachers, and the ever-present need to pester his
sister. From a parental viewpoint, it’s
overwhelming. Some things just can’t be
changed, no matter how you parent. It’s
his brain; whatever caused it has already caused it. It ain’t going away. I just don’t want him to be stripped of his
confidence because of it. I think our
role as parents is, first, to love him and, second, teach him to love
himself. He doesn’t have a chance if he
doesn’t like himself. He’ll collapse
inward and be depressed before he’s out of middle school. I want him to see himself as I see him – as a
sort of exploding star of awesomeness.
He could either become a black hole or light a universe.
Enter, school.
Jack was born August 19.
When he started Kindergarten, the cutoff was sept 1st. We went back and forth about holding him back
because he was young and small and a boy.
But he was also really, really ready for some real school. We took him to the little assessment thing
they do for entering kindergarteners and he blew the assessor away: taking a
chapter book off the shelf and reading it to her, doing math in his head, telling
her facts about space. She said we would
be doing him a disservice not to put him in kindergarten. So he started kindergarten when he was 4.
Fast forward 6 years.
He just started 5th grade.
On one level, he is fantastic. He
has never been below the 99th percentile on any standardized test
he’s taken. He reads at a college level,
about 150 words a minute. He finishes
his work early and his teacher almost always says Jack forces them to push
their curriculum all the way to its edges and beyond. But he also struggles. He’s been bullied. He’s teased and excluded. He crosses social boundaries: touching kids
who don’t want to be touched, arguing with teachers, showing difficulty in
working with others. In 3rd
grade, he had a particularly vicious teacher who publicly, repeatedly shamed
him, and he spent most of that year separated from the class, facing the back
wall of the classroom. It is my greatest
regret that I didn’t pull him from that class as soon as I saw the signs. I tried to work with the system and I wish I
hadn’t. The only benefit from the year
is that we had him tested (in the school and independently) and that
information has been really helpful.
And 4th grade was better. He had a “cool” teacher who is fun and
genuinely liked Jack; he saw Jack as a kid rather than a problem. There’s a second teacher in the classroom all
day, and she worked with Jack to keep him organized and focused on the task at
hand (instead of reading the books he has hidden in his desk.) He has more friends. He’s happier.
So I’m happier.
However, I’m not sure if he’s really reaching his full,
exploding-star potential. He’s capable
of above grade level work in every subject, which he’s not allowed to
access. He’s limited to a library of
books that are below his reading level.
Most glaringly, there are absolutely no resources or “interventions” to
help Jack with his needs: social interaction.
It has become clear that general socialization with average kids does
not rub off on Jack. He needs extra
help, but it is not available (through the school.) He’s doing just fine, but we have to figure
out if “just fine” is enough.
Now, let’s contrast Lila.
She’s average, remember. And
she’s thriving. She went into
kindergarten unable to read, enthralled with finger paints, and sometimes
forgetting the number 14 when she counted to 20. She has progressed like a bat outta
hell. She loves it. It is perfect for her. I have no reservations that she is in the
right place. It almost feels too
easy. And her experience this past year
has shown me what school is supposed to be like for a kid – and for the
parents.
For Jack, it has always felt like I was trying to walk down
the center of a ship when it’s being tossed in the waves: always off balance,
always trying to get back to center, sometimes thrown to the deck. Lila’s path is one through an open field of
flowers, end clearly visible, everything sunny.
This is the difference between school for an average kid and school for
a kid who is not average. School is
designed for the average. In some ways,
it simultaneously creates and demands average.
I always did well in school.
For the most part, I’m a very well-behaved human being. Laugh if you like, but I rarely break the
rules. And here’s a secret: I
don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing. I’m too influenced by authority figures. I want my kids to respect their teachers,
elders, and – of course – parents, but I also want them to question and take
chances. I want their definition of
success to be their custom creation.
The school’s definition of success dooms Jack to
failure. He will not be able to sit
still. He will not encourage collaboration in the
group projects. He will not sit
quietly. He disrupts. He challenges. He rebels when treated unfairly. I don’t think any of these things are bad,
unless he’s hurting someone else’s ability to learn. But in school, all these things are bad.
Jack is the one who gave me the title of this entry. I’m not even sure what he was talking about –
maybe how different 4th grade is from kindergarten. Regardless, he has it right. He and Lila go to the same elementary. We walk the same sidewalk to school. I let them go through the same doors every
morning. It’s the same school. But it’s a different planet.