Middle school.
First day of sixth grade, but first you need some background.
AT attended a private preschool and kindergarten. It was a magical place and was just
around the corner from our house.
We often walked to or from school.
The children had to go outside every day for at least a little while to
play no matter what the weather. We were encouraged to send them in old clothes so they
could get dirty. Children were
allow to climb high in trees, as long as they could get themselves down. The kindergarten teacher told me she
was relieved when the big kindergarteners were leaving at the end of their
school year because they almost reached her fear limit. There were bicycles to ride, zip lines
and rope swings to use. The kids
rode on a trailer in parades.
They had hay rides in our neighborhood. They ran from the mythical "killer beaver" that
lived in our creek. If the city
schools were out for snow, the school was open for sledding on the
property. On a snow day, I asked
the teacher if she worried about the blades on sleds hurting someone, and she
replied, "Oh, they have on thick clothes." We loved this school.
Then first grade.
It was also within walking distance from our house. It was a small public elementary
school, with a great reputation, with only two classrooms per grade. I was working where I work now - at a
rural school 17 miles from our house.
I could have chosen for AT to attend school with me or stay in
town. Our town has good schools
and I was determined that she would stay in town. I wanted to have every chance to meet as many parents as
possible so I would be ready for high school.
So I started AT in school in town with great hopes. It was first grade. She did not learn to read in
kindergarten, but she had some good skills. She could not have had more exposure to books. At home, we usually read books twice a
day. She loved being read to. She could rhyme words at age 3. She knew her letters and sounds. She was ready to go.
But we hit the perfect storm. Her first teacher quit after one month of school. Her second teacher was an entry-year
teacher. The class was heavily
weighted with special needs students.
If you have read my blog very many times, you know that I am a strong
proponent of inclusion with special needs students, but this class was too
heavily weighted with special needs students, behavior problems, and gifted
readers. My child was in the
middle of the class and getting no attention at all. I wanted to be relaxed about her learning to read. She would do it on her own time. But I was increasingly concerned at the
school year progressed. When I
talked to the teacher, she did not seem to be concerned or have any
suggestions. How could my child,
immersed in reading as she had
been, not be progressing more?
Should I be freaking out or relaxed? Was she not learning to read because of poor
instruction or because she had a true learning disability? It was surely not because of lack of
exposure at home. By the end of the year, I wasn't the only one stressed. AT was having physical symptoms, health
problems, often crying when I dropped her off at school. Something was stressing her and
something had to change.
So, after fretting for months, I took her out of school and put
her in my school for the last month of school. By that point, I did not care what she learned. I just wanted her to enjoy school. Within two days, her new teacher sent
home words that she needed to learn to read. I realized I was just given the first piece of prescriptive
information to work on at home.
This had not happened in her old classroom, in spite of my expressing my
concern several times to the teacher.
On to second grade...at my school. She was still behind in reading. Her second grade teacher that year told me that, if she had
not been my child (meaning she thought we would work at home), that she would
have recommended that AT return to first grade. And within 9 weeks, she was reading on the second grade
level. You decide: maturation, or poor instruction. We'll never know.
AT continued at my school until she completed elementary
school. The reading problem never
appeared again. I'm so glad we had
those years together, all those rides together back and forth to school. Inside the school, AT's and my relationship was somewhat
formal. In general, she can be a
very independent being. If I
passed her in line, we would smile and wave, but just as I wave at any other
student. However, there were a few
moments when "mean"
girls were overwhelming and she ran to me after school and climbed up in my lap
for comfort. My heart hurt at the
time, but now, I'm filled with thankfulness that I had those precious
moments.
The plan had always been for AT to return to the town school
system for middle school. My
rationale was that, in high school, the larger school would provide more variety for
AT's creative intelligence, her strength. AT was very happy at my school and had many friends,
so the summer after fifth grade, she was very frustrated with me. Well, not frustrated. Mad. All summer, when people congratulated her on moving to
middle school, she let her feelings be known. "My mom is making me change schools.". I stayed
firm. She changed.
Now...back to middle school. First day of school.
This was emotionally our Kindergarten year, at least in my mind. Her true Kindergarten year and first
grade were long past. She had been
with me at school for the past five years. Now I was sending her off with strangers. She was growing up too fast. She was still frustrated with me for
making her change schools. We
wandered around outside the school, looking for the sixth grade gathering area,
then looking for the line for her homeroom teacher. She said, "Don't leave me!" I assured her I wouldn't until we found
the right line. Ahh, there
it was. I heard a teacher announce
her teacher's name. She was in the
right line and I was about to cry.
I quickly told her.
"I'll be here to pick you up after school. Love you." and turned away. I did not turn back to look since I did
not want her to see me cry. I was
about 50 feet away and I felt a hand on my arm. I turned. It
was her, coming for one last "Love you." She said, "Love you. Are you crying?"
"Love you and no."
We both turned away and went on with our day.
Ah, makes me cry too! elk
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