Let Me Tell You How I Feel About Mid Quarter Reports And Some Other Shit

"Mommy, I have something very important for you!" my son cried even as he was exiting the school bus.

I love this moment - his bright, eager face, the way his knobby knees pump enthusiastically as he makes his way up the drive, the book bag loaded with crumpled work, his "reading log" that already looks like it has been through a war.  A wet war.

First Day of School

Of course, when he says, "Mommy, I have something very important for you!" I get a little apprehensive. Sometimes this means a worksheet of which he is particularly proud. Sometimes it's an envelope addressed "to the parents of Justin Kilgore," which means that he has once again gotten into trouble.  It's a toss-up.

Today, it was his mid-quarter report.  Did we even have such things as little kids? I don't know. But his green eyes were lit up, and I smiled at my sweet boy's enthusiasm.

"Did I do good?" he asked me,

I scanned the report, and there, in a literal block, in bold letters, are the words: Below Grade Level.

"Yes, baby," I answered, folded the 3 page report and took him inside.  He immediately bolted for his room, where he stripped down to his underwear and came running back up the hall, ready for his snack, just like every other school day.

I got him situated with Cheetos and water colors because hey, bitches, it's Friday! And then I opened up the report to read that Justin doesn't transition well.  That he struggles to complete work without assistance.  That overall he is a great student but, but, but.

And that these are the things I can be doing to help him.

Read to him every day.  Check.  Usually before and after school.

Letter flash cards.  Check.

Number flash cards.  Check.  

Practice sight words.  Well...

Just this Monday, Justin came home with a new folder - his homework folder.  Four worksheets as well as a list of sight words, to be done throughout the week.  And I tell you, every evening we have sat down and worked on this stuff.  After I place my son on the bus at 8:19 and get him off of the bus at 3:52. After snack and before dinner and bath, before we read (yes, at least 20 minutes!) and before my exhausted child falls heavily asleep between 7:15 and 7:45.  My hours with my son are few these days, but still, we have been doing the homework,

And I tell you, it's hard for him.  He doesn't recognize numbers past 10.  It took a concerted effort between his last teacher and me, and many months, to get that,  He recognizes his name, but none of the sight words.  He still doesn't recognize all the letters of his alphabet, but hey - a year ago he knew none of them and was still pooping his pants, so I mostly I have been feeling pretty good about stuff.

But after going into his sight words the third time, he no longer makes eye contact with me.  His hand bats at his ear. His bones hurt, he says, and his eyes no longer work.  He is done, and you know, I don't blame him.  It has been a long day.

And here is the thing - my son has special needs and delays, and I am not a special ed teacher. I ran the homework program at the Boys and Girls Club, but I am stumped and, frankly, overwhelmed when I try to explain certain concepts to my son. I draw pictures, I do flashcards, I draw pictures on our own flashcards (V IS FOR VACUUM!), but I think this is beyond flashcards, folks.

So this mid-quarter report, it pissed me off.  And let me clarify that I think his teacher is wonderful. My son adores her and he works hard for her. I am, however, pissed at a system that thinks my 5 year-old child should have homework. I'm pissed at a system that, not even 6 weeks into the school year, stamps Below Grade Level under my son's name and then gives me suggestions on how to correct this...as if my husband and I have just been lazy or something. As if we haven't done everything we could do to give our son every advantage. I'm pissed at a system that keeps my child all day, 5 days a week, and still believes that isn't enough work for him.

This is the system that, despite the fact that we have pages of diagnoses from the best professionals in the area, despite the fact that he scored only in the 1st percentile in his screening exam, despite multiple meetings in which we expressed our concern, convinced us to just go forth "for now" without an IEP, that despite it all, he was performing at an age-appropriate level.

Can someone explain how that changed in 6 weeks? I'm confused.

And I'm pissed that I believed it.

So I called my husband, and he got pissed even quicker than I did.  "We told them!" he yelled.  "We told them he needed an IEP, we had a stack of shit proving it, and this stupid report is just one more thing to add to the stack!"

Yes. The Stack. It's about 6 inches thick already, bless it, and I am about to use it to beat someone.

I'm pissed and concerned.  Because today, with his trusting nature and easy confidence, my son believed me when I said he was doing well.  But what about when he can read?  What about when he realizes those tests that he frankly does so poorly in are considered to be a measure of his academic worth?

And oh, I will tell him they are not.  That he is worth so much more.  That he is worth everything. But I worry it won't be enough.  And I want him to know that I may be pissed at the system that quickly labels him below grade level, but labels him in such a way that they don't have to provide him with services that his father and I, as well as an entire team of professionals at Children's Mercy, have said repeatedly he needs...but I am nothing but amazed at what he has accomplished.

He sits down and eats his breakfast every morning. He helps me pack his lunch and likes to remind me to "put the time in my reading log, Mommy!" He gets himself dressed and he brushes his teeth with very little resistance. He doesn't dawdle, because he knows if he gets done early, we'll read from his Bugopedia outside until the bus comes.  (He can't recognize the word it yet, but ask him about mosquitoes.  Or hornets.  Or honeybees.)

And he gets on the bus, every morning, and has only cried once.  And he turns and waves and yells, "I will see you shortly, Mommy!" every morning, and every afternoon, as the bus rolls to a stop, I can hear his loud, clear voice, ringing out, "THIS IS IT! THIS IS MY HOUSE!"

And I am amazed that he has only forgotten his lunch box at school just once, and that he comes home with work that he is so very, very proud of, work that he can't wait to show me.  And I am proud that he is so excited to tell me about his day that his whole little body fairly vibrates with it, that sometimes I have to take him in my lap and squeeze him until he can pull it together enough to tell me about that day's adventures.

He sings snatches of songs that I haven't taught him, and says sayings that he didn't hear from us and he is learning. He may be struggling with sight words, but he is absorbing so much.

And I am proud that he is learning to be a bigger person that the children who, unfortunately, have already started to bully him.  Yesterday, when I went to have lunch with him at his school, one of the two friends he invited to eat with us was the same little shit boy who brained him between the eyes with a chunk of concrete. I wanted so badly to lean across the table and tell that kid that if he ever laid a hand - or chunk of concrete - on my beautiful son again, I would hunt him down...but my boy's face was so happy, and what could I do but be proud of this bighearted child God has entrusted me with?

But I am not happy with a system - and a society - that is expecting so much academically out of our children at such a young age.  Homework at age 5?  Seriously.  That is ridiculous. When my kid gets home, what I would like to do is take him outside and let him run and run and run and scream and run and play in the dirt for awhile before he crashes.

And I bet it would be more beneficial than practicing sight words.

I want to know these things: I want to know if he is participating.  If he is listening.  If he is interacting with his peers.  If he is being kind and patient.  I want to know if he is being respectful to his teachers and to his peers.  And yes, I want to know where he is struggling...but I want to know where he is succeeding, too.  Because from where I am standing, his successes stack up way higher than his inability to recognize the word it.