Yesterday was Report Card Day. The first one of the year. My daughter was so excited to see her grades! She has been working so hard. I’m not going to pretend I am one of those parents who believes in homework. Truthfully, I don’t. I see my kids go off to school for nine hours a day, 5 days a week, and personally, I think enough is enough. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about my 11 year old girl, the one I see lug around a back-pack that must weigh almost
half of what she does. The one I see sit at the dining room table, night after night, struggling sometimes to make sense of questions that baffle even me. The one who gabs excitedly when she finds a book she loves, and sacrifices precious down-time to push through reading the ones she doesn’t. It’s about my daughter, who was just about to head upstairs to bed last night, when I sensed, as a mother does, that something was very, very wrong. It’s about what happened after I told her to sit by me, and tell me what was on her mind. It’s about watching her beautiful blue eyes well up with tears, and her precious lips start to quiver, and her whole face turn from its usually joyous expression to one of sadness, to one of self- doubt. It’s about her report card. It’s about her Reading grade.
You have known my daughter for a short time. You have known her as a student. You have known her as a Reading Level. But I have known her much longer. I have known her as a baby, with eyes full of joy; a child, with a heart full of love; a daughter, with a spirit of determination; and a human being, One of the very best.
When she was a toddler, I took her to get a well-visit from her doctor, a man who I had known and trusted as the primary physician of both her older sister and herself since birth. On this visit, when he looked in her ears, he calmly mentioned to me that he saw some excess fluid inside. He was never an alarmist, but was forth coming. I had questions, of course. What does that mean? Should we do anything? Will it go away? Is it bothering her?
At her young age, it wasn’t bothering her. The Doc explained that a lot of children have this excess fluid, as their inner ear tubes haven’t fully developed and turned downward yet. His hope was that they would do so on their own. Years ago doctors and parents rushed to insert tubes into the ears of babies and children with similar conditions. That meant hospitals, and surgery, and anesthesia. As often happens with oldschool healthcare ideas, the community realized at a point that it was in fact a potentially dangerous and not always necessary option. If you watch and wait, most children’s ears will eventually drain the fluid on their own, as they grow.
She was a healthy and delightful little girl. She attended HeadStart and Kindergarten with no problems. She loved school. As she grew a little older, and school became a little “harder”, I would notice sometimes that she would have a difficult time hearing. It would come and go, like a seasonal allergy. Soon after, the teachers began noticing that her reading and writing skills seemed to be falling behind. The connection was clear.
And so it began. She had to go see an audiologist. Then an ENT. He prescribed a nasal spray, hoping that would clear the fluid in a non-surgical way. She took it like a champ. I don’t know if you have children of your own, but surely you can imagine what it would be like to convince a very young child to spray medicine UP THEIR NOSE? She did it. The ENT watched her closely, as had her Primary Doc. Eventually, he released her from his care. Her ears were beginning to change on their own, and he saw no good reason to put her thru the surgical procedure of placing tubes.
As a mom, I was thrilled. I am an avid reader and writer, I absolutely adore literature and grammar. But all of the books in the world could never justify giving my baby anesthesia and surgically placing foreign objects in her tiny ears. The fluid would drain in due time, and she’d begin to hear more clearly, and therefore learn to read and write a little better, but maybe not as quickly as those kids who had been hearing all along, and that was perfectly okay with me. Being a bit behind in school is no comparison for the risk of having complications from surgery in such a delicate area on such a small child. It’s just not. Still in all, precious time had elapsed, time when most children are learning the fundamentals of reading and writing, the future building blocks of education.
As she progressed thru the years, her reading grades and “level” were always “behind”. The teachers in her primary school were familiar with her situation, and responded lovingly and with compassionate understanding. I watched my baby girl work her little butt off to attempt to be where the other kids were naturally, and still fall short. Sometimes it killed me.
Throughout the years, she has received extra reading help. I remember in third grade, they used to take her out of Cursive Handwriting class in order to attend extra reading classes. She would come home in tears. She had been so looking forward to third grade, and learning cursive. I knew the importance of catching up on her reading, but it still broke my heart in half to see her cry, all primarily due to something PHYSICAL, something she had no control over at all. I reached out to her teacher. He took it seriously, and worked with the school to make sure she would at least be able to attend some cursive classes. The thing that they understood about learning, is that it works a whole lot better when it is accompanied by desire. And she desired to learn cursive! How Wonderful is that!
She moved to a different school in fourth grade. Our particular district separates K-3 and 4-6. She continued to be pulled out for extra reading help. It continued to take its toll on her, but she kept at it. And, through hard work and determination, she has made it successfully to sixth grade.Because her beginning school years were further complicated by her hearing issues, she has always had to work harder than the rest. I watch other children sail through the very same classes that she struggles to understand. But she works until she does.
I’ll admit, her tears last night caught me by surprise. Her hard work proved itself in her grades as far as I could see, with almost every single class ranging from a 74 to an 84. All but one, that is. Reading. A big, dull, SIXTY FIVE. It stuck out like a sore thumb. Ironically, too, since reading is the main component of Every. Other. Subject.
I held my baby in my arms as the tears poured out. She didn’t need me to explain to her that her hearing had been compromised in the beginning years, causing her to fall behind in reading. She didn’t need to feel ‘different’. She didn’t need to know that her doctors and I were forced to make a decision between her physical health and well being and her potentially delayed education. She didn’t need me to tell her to work harder. She has been working harder since the day this all began. What she needed, what all children need, is for her grade to at least somewhat, reflect her EFFORT. And every other one did. All but yours.
Oh, if only she could be graded on her life skills! She’d have straight A’s for sure. She loves cooking, and fixing things. She babysits, and is phenomenal with smaller kids. She can build tents (real ones) and fix laptops, bikes, electronics. She is smarter than me in more ways than I can count. Maybe words just aren’t her thing. And if they’re not, that’s perfectly fine! It’s just that she doesn’t know that yet. And even with me gently explaining how wonderful she is in so many things, it didn’t really matter to her very much. Not last night. Last night, her entire self view was wrapped up on this one tiny line on this one piece of paper. And as her mom, I had to understand that.
I love teachers. I could write a paragraph right now dedicated to each of the teachers who have worked with her in the past. These people were extraordinary, they blew my mind and melted my heart. I completely think that it’s one of, if not the, hardest profession in the world. But with that, comes responsibility. You aren’t just teaching children how to read, you are teaching them confidence, and pride. And sometimes, to my great sadness, you are teaching them just the opposite.
But my knowing that wasn’t going to sooth my crying daughter. My personal beliefs weren’t going to make her feel like she had accomplished what she had set out to do. She DESERVED to SEE IT reflected in her grade. She needed to hear that from YOU.
Perhaps I’m misdirecting my angst. Maybe I should be blaming a broken system, a system that emphasizes grades in entirely the wrong way. A system where one child can sleep on their unfinished homework at night and still pull off an A, and another sacrifices all their personal time to complete as much work as humanly possible for THEM, and still can’t even “Score” a B. Well, I’ll tell you what, in my view, a C that was earned through blood, sweat, and tears is worth just as much, if not a hell of a lot more than an A that came naturally. But, it’s not just the system. There’s some human responsibility at play here as well.
There’s a little ‘remarks’ section of the report card where teachers can write something about the student. A lot of them choose to be inspiring in this section. I’ve read many that have literally brought tears to this mom’s eyes. But your “Remark” was the typical computer generated one, designed for no better reason than to compare our children against one another, instead of congratulating them on doing their own personal best. And I quote : “At this time, in 6th grade, students should be reading at a level ‘Z’. (Your Child) is reading at a level ‘X’. ”
As a parent, holding a crying 11 year old girl in my arms, one who should be sleeping after working her little butt off for yet another long week at school and home, I wish I could respond with my own “remark section”. It would read : “At this time, in 6thgrade, teachers should be educating with a compassionate understanding level of 10. (This Teacher) is currently working with a compassionate understanding level of 0.”
But I would never actually do that. You are a human being, not just a teacher, and I refuse to size you up with a number. And if I absolutely had to, like you do, that number would be the reflection of an entire picture, of an entire person. You may not actually be able to give an “A” for Effort, I get that. But SURELY, effort is worth a few more points, or words, than THIS.
half of what she does. The one I see sit at the dining room table, night after night, struggling sometimes to make sense of questions that baffle even me. The one who gabs excitedly when she finds a book she loves, and sacrifices precious down-time to push through reading the ones she doesn’t. It’s about my daughter, who was just about to head upstairs to bed last night, when I sensed, as a mother does, that something was very, very wrong. It’s about what happened after I told her to sit by me, and tell me what was on her mind. It’s about watching her beautiful blue eyes well up with tears, and her precious lips start to quiver, and her whole face turn from its usually joyous expression to one of sadness, to one of self- doubt. It’s about her report card. It’s about her Reading grade.You have known my daughter for a short time. You have known her as a student. You have known her as a Reading Level. But I have known her much longer. I have known her as a baby, with eyes full of joy; a child, with a heart full of love; a daughter, with a spirit of determination; and a human being, One of the very best.
When she was a toddler, I took her to get a well-visit from her doctor, a man who I had known and trusted as the primary physician of both her older sister and herself since birth. On this visit, when he looked in her ears, he calmly mentioned to me that he saw some excess fluid inside. He was never an alarmist, but was forth coming. I had questions, of course. What does that mean? Should we do anything? Will it go away? Is it bothering her?
At her young age, it wasn’t bothering her. The Doc explained that a lot of children have this excess fluid, as their inner ear tubes haven’t fully developed and turned downward yet. His hope was that they would do so on their own. Years ago doctors and parents rushed to insert tubes into the ears of babies and children with similar conditions. That meant hospitals, and surgery, and anesthesia. As often happens with oldschool healthcare ideas, the community realized at a point that it was in fact a potentially dangerous and not always necessary option. If you watch and wait, most children’s ears will eventually drain the fluid on their own, as they grow.
She was a healthy and delightful little girl. She attended HeadStart and Kindergarten with no problems. She loved school. As she grew a little older, and school became a little “harder”, I would notice sometimes that she would have a difficult time hearing. It would come and go, like a seasonal allergy. Soon after, the teachers began noticing that her reading and writing skills seemed to be falling behind. The connection was clear.
And so it began. She had to go see an audiologist. Then an ENT. He prescribed a nasal spray, hoping that would clear the fluid in a non-surgical way. She took it like a champ. I don’t know if you have children of your own, but surely you can imagine what it would be like to convince a very young child to spray medicine UP THEIR NOSE? She did it. The ENT watched her closely, as had her Primary Doc. Eventually, he released her from his care. Her ears were beginning to change on their own, and he saw no good reason to put her thru the surgical procedure of placing tubes.
As a mom, I was thrilled. I am an avid reader and writer, I absolutely adore literature and grammar. But all of the books in the world could never justify giving my baby anesthesia and surgically placing foreign objects in her tiny ears. The fluid would drain in due time, and she’d begin to hear more clearly, and therefore learn to read and write a little better, but maybe not as quickly as those kids who had been hearing all along, and that was perfectly okay with me. Being a bit behind in school is no comparison for the risk of having complications from surgery in such a delicate area on such a small child. It’s just not. Still in all, precious time had elapsed, time when most children are learning the fundamentals of reading and writing, the future building blocks of education.
As she progressed thru the years, her reading grades and “level” were always “behind”. The teachers in her primary school were familiar with her situation, and responded lovingly and with compassionate understanding. I watched my baby girl work her little butt off to attempt to be where the other kids were naturally, and still fall short. Sometimes it killed me.
Throughout the years, she has received extra reading help. I remember in third grade, they used to take her out of Cursive Handwriting class in order to attend extra reading classes. She would come home in tears. She had been so looking forward to third grade, and learning cursive. I knew the importance of catching up on her reading, but it still broke my heart in half to see her cry, all primarily due to something PHYSICAL, something she had no control over at all. I reached out to her teacher. He took it seriously, and worked with the school to make sure she would at least be able to attend some cursive classes. The thing that they understood about learning, is that it works a whole lot better when it is accompanied by desire. And she desired to learn cursive! How Wonderful is that!
She moved to a different school in fourth grade. Our particular district separates K-3 and 4-6. She continued to be pulled out for extra reading help. It continued to take its toll on her, but she kept at it. And, through hard work and determination, she has made it successfully to sixth grade.Because her beginning school years were further complicated by her hearing issues, she has always had to work harder than the rest. I watch other children sail through the very same classes that she struggles to understand. But she works until she does.
I’ll admit, her tears last night caught me by surprise. Her hard work proved itself in her grades as far as I could see, with almost every single class ranging from a 74 to an 84. All but one, that is. Reading. A big, dull, SIXTY FIVE. It stuck out like a sore thumb. Ironically, too, since reading is the main component of Every. Other. Subject.
I held my baby in my arms as the tears poured out. She didn’t need me to explain to her that her hearing had been compromised in the beginning years, causing her to fall behind in reading. She didn’t need to feel ‘different’. She didn’t need to know that her doctors and I were forced to make a decision between her physical health and well being and her potentially delayed education. She didn’t need me to tell her to work harder. She has been working harder since the day this all began. What she needed, what all children need, is for her grade to at least somewhat, reflect her EFFORT. And every other one did. All but yours.
Oh, if only she could be graded on her life skills! She’d have straight A’s for sure. She loves cooking, and fixing things. She babysits, and is phenomenal with smaller kids. She can build tents (real ones) and fix laptops, bikes, electronics. She is smarter than me in more ways than I can count. Maybe words just aren’t her thing. And if they’re not, that’s perfectly fine! It’s just that she doesn’t know that yet. And even with me gently explaining how wonderful she is in so many things, it didn’t really matter to her very much. Not last night. Last night, her entire self view was wrapped up on this one tiny line on this one piece of paper. And as her mom, I had to understand that.
I love teachers. I could write a paragraph right now dedicated to each of the teachers who have worked with her in the past. These people were extraordinary, they blew my mind and melted my heart. I completely think that it’s one of, if not the, hardest profession in the world. But with that, comes responsibility. You aren’t just teaching children how to read, you are teaching them confidence, and pride. And sometimes, to my great sadness, you are teaching them just the opposite.
But my knowing that wasn’t going to sooth my crying daughter. My personal beliefs weren’t going to make her feel like she had accomplished what she had set out to do. She DESERVED to SEE IT reflected in her grade. She needed to hear that from YOU.
Perhaps I’m misdirecting my angst. Maybe I should be blaming a broken system, a system that emphasizes grades in entirely the wrong way. A system where one child can sleep on their unfinished homework at night and still pull off an A, and another sacrifices all their personal time to complete as much work as humanly possible for THEM, and still can’t even “Score” a B. Well, I’ll tell you what, in my view, a C that was earned through blood, sweat, and tears is worth just as much, if not a hell of a lot more than an A that came naturally. But, it’s not just the system. There’s some human responsibility at play here as well.
There’s a little ‘remarks’ section of the report card where teachers can write something about the student. A lot of them choose to be inspiring in this section. I’ve read many that have literally brought tears to this mom’s eyes. But your “Remark” was the typical computer generated one, designed for no better reason than to compare our children against one another, instead of congratulating them on doing their own personal best. And I quote : “At this time, in 6th grade, students should be reading at a level ‘Z’. (Your Child) is reading at a level ‘X’. ”
As a parent, holding a crying 11 year old girl in my arms, one who should be sleeping after working her little butt off for yet another long week at school and home, I wish I could respond with my own “remark section”. It would read : “At this time, in 6thgrade, teachers should be educating with a compassionate understanding level of 10. (This Teacher) is currently working with a compassionate understanding level of 0.”
But I would never actually do that. You are a human being, not just a teacher, and I refuse to size you up with a number. And if I absolutely had to, like you do, that number would be the reflection of an entire picture, of an entire person. You may not actually be able to give an “A” for Effort, I get that. But SURELY, effort is worth a few more points, or words, than THIS.
Sincerely,
The Mom of The Heartbroken Reader
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Lynne Marshall says
Excellent article. Very impressive and very compassionate.