Time is on my side...mostly

I was very, very worried when I had my eldest son repeat first grade.  I thought that he would be teased and called stupid.  He is far from that, but I recall a stigma attached to being "held back."  I remember my own harsh 6 year old self's thoughts about those others who were slow, couldn't read well, didn't "get it" in school.  I didn't understand what was "wrong" with them. The labels were swift and irreversible, in my mind.  He is a boy, born in the summer, and so on the tail end of his school co-hort. The first time around, we enrolled him in first grade after kindergarten without any concern.  Both my husband and I had been on the very young end of our classes and we thought it didn't do us any harm.  There weren't any red flags in kindergarten, and he had a group of boys in his class that would be close in age which we thought would protect him from being too much of an outlier.  On he merrily went from kindy to first grade.  I thought things were going along just fine at the beginning of the school year.  Then at our first parent-teacher conference in the fall, the teacher hit us with what felt at the time like a small bomb--C was having problems.  It might be something serious, diagnosable;  it might just be his age and development.  Wha?  Huh?  He was having a hard time completing his work, wasn't able to follow directions precisely.  He lagged behind the class.  He required one-on-one attention from the teacher most of the time to finish writing sentences, drawing pictures,  creating forms.  He had some issues socially integrating with his classmates. 

After my husband and I absorbed the news, we proceeded to systematically evaluate things easily correctable.  Doctor visit-okay.  We had his eyes checked.  Twice.  Hearing-fine.  We tossed around the over-diagnosed/easily medicated ADD/ADHD.  I researched it extensively.  By the end of spring of that year, I had a reading specialist evaluate him for any "processing issues."  Since he's in a Waldorf school, arbitrary grade-level reading tests were meaningless.  Sure enough, she detected some slow processing--he took an excessive amount of time translating visual pictures into words.  But he was only six, and no one wants to label a six year old (except for maybe their classmates).  It was hard to not feel like valuable time was being lost by not labeling him.  But she confirmed "likely" dyslexia.

I actually experienced moments of sadness--grief--in realizing my perfect little boy was in fact not perfect.  My ray of sunshine who would create worlds of magic...marred...abnormally wired, compared to most everyone else.  I felt anguish that he would have to struggle through life with dyslexia (or something).  Then I would think of children and families with real problems.  Real sickness, real behavior issues.  Leukemia.  Accidents.  Death.  It seemed not such a big deal after all.  I got over it and began to internalize the real meaning of the issue.

Part of that acceptance was in letting go of my expectations for him.  We all have that as parents.  High expectations of a child can be a very positive thing.  But preconceptions--expectations for--are a mistake.   This child loves stories and I felt that once he could read, the world would open up to him.  I saw him as bright and likely an early reader--which would be a de-facto confirmation of his gifts and interests.   I had been an early reader, so of course he would be.  No one in either my or my husband's families had had any real learning issues, I didn't think.  Somehow, in seeing how much he loved to hear stories, I neglected to see how hard letters were for him and how he shied away from writing.  What has taken a while to incorporate fully into my understanding, is that reading--processing ability--is only one kind of intelligence.  Just because someone isn't wired to easily learn to read (some 30% of us figure it out without formal instruction, and another 30-40% get it with minimal teaching) does not mean that they aren't bright.  I've known dyslexic people my whole life;  I just didn't really ever fully understand what it meant.  Of course, I have always believed the cliche that everyone has a gift to share no matter their education level or whatever...I just never thought that a "learning disability" would apply to my kid.  And, Oh, how I want to take back any judgment I ever made.

Once again, through my children, I am humbled and continuing to learn.  I had driven myself and my son crazy working on letters and words with him.  Not drilling him or anything, but even casually working on it was painful.  I've stopped.  I'm going to leave it to a specialist.  But in the mean time, we had him repeat first grade.  It helped to sort out what was in fact developmental from what is likely organic.  By the end of his first first grade year, he had made strides and was much better able to finish his work.  He wasn't as easily distracted by sounds and people.  He'd 'worked hard' to catch up.  He'd also had bedtimes full of tears, calling himself stupid.  Over that first summer break, my husband and I had an epiphany that we should just have him be the oldest in his class instead of the youngest. We checked it out with his former teacher who had since moved schools, and he was fully supportive.  He had not recommended it in the end of the year, probably partly because C is sweet, not a troublesome child.  Not disruptive and screaming for attention.  But he thought it would be a great thing for him.

So we gingerly approached the school and I wrote a letter to the parents of his former class, asking their help in explaining to their kids what was going to happen, hopefully easing the transition and limiting the teasing.  The school gave us their full support.  His classmates and friends gave him no hassle.  The grade above him did tease him a bit, unfortunately.  But that is part of life, I guess.  I can't protect him from everything.

In that repeat year, I did not work at all on reading unless C asked to.  I just let him be.  I let him do the work of his second first grade year uninterrupted.  His teacher said he was a leader in his classroom and socially.  He could sit and complete his work.  About ninety percent of the issues from the previous year vanished.  He has, in spite of the teasing, come through more confident.  He still, however, cannot hardly read at eight.  He is, still, dyslexic.  But at least now, there is clarity and a path.  And I have learned so much, so incredibly much, about slowing down on pushing a child through school, hitting arbitrary milestones at proscribed points.  I can certainly see how and why they came to exist.  But applying population based norms to individuals sucks.   And applying my experience, believing that just because my son is of my genes that he will be like me or his father, is just plain ignorant.  And then there is the profound difference between the boy and girl brain...that is a whole other story.

I've decided that I will probably keep my other two boys "back" as well, so that they will be on the older end of their classes, but we'll see.  If you read Malcolm Gladwell's "Outliers," he makes compelling arguments in support of it.  I had thought we might only see the benefits eight years from now, but they were apparent immediately.  Really, why should we be in a hurry to "get our kids through?"  The six years of elementary school go by exceedingly fast.  And a year of development between a five and six, or six and seven year old--it's a significant portion of their life.  Sometimes it's when you don't push that you feel no resistance and things move ahead on their own.  A small part of me keeps waiting for some developmental wiring in C's brain to connect and for reading to magically begin for him.  Other parents, especially those with boys, relate stories such as this.  One day their son picked up Harry Potter and off they went reading into the sunset.  Maybe that will happen.  But I think not.  And it's okay.  It's truly a "learning difference," a brain wired in a way that learns differently than most of us, and because of our learning systems, a disability.  So humbling.  And part of what makes him magic.  And what made me a peter pan kind of mom.