And Zen What

Other good news arrived in yesterday's mail too.

Last year, Four entered 1st grade in our local public school after having spent kindergarten at a wonderful progressive school (its philosophy was that kids will learn to read when they are ready and that it's the school's job to make sure that it is ready when they are). So 1st grade in our very competitive school district was a bit of a shock, to him and to me (as we were, I'm sure, to the school).

He was assigned to a teacher with Very Good Posture. Now, I'm all for taking care of your body alignment, but sometimes this straight back thing is a tip-off. And, as a matter of fact, as the year went on, her back got straighter and straighter.

She'd just transferred to the elementary school after years of teaching high school. She was horrified that Four didn't know his alphabet or how to read any words at all. That he hadn't met even one kindergarten benchmark. (He did know how to write his name, I hasten to point out--who cared if his mom was the only other person who could read it?--oh, wait, the teacher did). She was convinced that there was something terribly wrong, especially given his extreme reluctance to speak in class.

I thanked her for her concern and explained that he was very shy and that his major learning mode was observational, that he'd been that way all his life. Four came home at 5 months old, so I always feel like I can say things like "all his life" to people like teachers.

I reassured her that he liked her (he did) and liked the other kids (he did) and that the other kids liked him (they always do). That he was perfectly capable of speaking out loud and often at great length at home. That he looked forward to the nightly ritual of having books read to him and had in fact memorized (not on purpose) many of his favorites. That he lived a life surrounded by books and readers and with siblings who loved to play school and who often wrote and organized original plays for performance for the family in which he fully participated. That he made up stories and wrote books ("wrote" "books") at home on a regular basis. That everything he knew how to do followed the same pattern: he'd sit on the sidelines for a good long time and then all of a sudden, without working up to it in stages, he'd be able to do it--walking, for example. He pushed the envelope on that developmental stage til I was almost frantic, and then--he just, one day, stood up and walked.

She wasn't having any of that. In her world, a child at his level (or lack thereof) of reading was in trouble both at home and at school and that was that.

She wanted him to have an IEP. An IEP is a plan made for a child with special needs--teachers, staff, and parents meet together to determine goals and organize the methods by which these goals will be met. I said he didn't need one.

She badgered me all year. She sent notes, had "talks" with all the
school personnel about my neglectful parenting, CALLED ME AT HOME to "express her concerns," blah blah blah.

I'm ashamed to admit, she almost got me. I mean, it was a big wager to lose if I was
wrong, and I admit I had some moments when I was pretty anxious about it.

But now, after a year with a veteran 2nd grade teacher (20 years in,
bless her), who gets that kids have their own pacing (official school benchmarks notwithstanding) and also gets that boys are, y'know, boys--the bar graph in the end-of-the-year school envelope announces (ta-da!):


So here's to you, Mrs. ExFirstGradeTeacher:

NEENER NEENER NEENER!!!!!!!!