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What not to discuss with strangers: politics, religion and your child’s reading level

Back to the evening before midterms…

Jan. 21, 2007. Husband and I are sitting, eating dinner, on the piano bench in his cousin’s living room during our shiva call. Two 30-ish women we don’t know start oohing and aahing over Younger Son. “He’s so cute!” says one.

“How old is he?” says the other.

“Six,” I say.

“What grade are you in?” the first woman asks Younger Son. He does not hear her. He is too busy trying to convince me to let him eat yet another cookie.

“First grade,” the other woman answers her friend. “I can tell by how many teeth he’s missing. (His top two.) My daughter is in first grade too.”

Okay. By now you know me well enough to know exactly what I am going to do.

You are correct.

I throw out my half-eaten plate of food, walk across the room and sit next to the woman whose daughter is in first grade. I steal a chair vacated by an older woman with a cane who has gotten up to use the bathroom. (Mothers whose kids are behind the curve in reading show no mercy. Only kidding. I gave the woman her chair back when she returned.)

Lowering my voice so Younger Son can’t hear me, I whisper to the mother of the first grader, “Can I ask you a weird question?”

She says yes but looks a little uncomfortable. I guess there’s weird and then there’s weird. I hope she won’t think my question too odd, given that I don’t even know what her name is, or even who she is. “How does your daughter’s school teach reading?” I ask. “Do they use phonics or Whole Language?”

“Whole Language,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

I tell her all about how Younger Son’s Balanced Literacy curriculum had failed him. I tell her how Younger Son had memorized all the books in his reading basket and tricked his teacher into thinking he was reading them. He was able to recite the books by heart and never even bothered to look at the words on the page. I tell her that Younger Son’s school had had no idea he wasn’t actually reading and that I was the one who pointed that out after he started “reading” the books he brought home for homework by holding them behind his back. (He turned the pages at the appropriate time even though he was holding the book behind his back.) I told the school that when I wrote the words from the books he was “reading” on a separate piece of paper he had no idea what those words said. I tell her I am now teaching him how to read at home.

“That’s terrible” she says. “The school should have noticed that. I’d be all over them. They should be doing everything they can to teach him to read. You shouldn’t be doing it. How could they have missed that?”

There, she said it.

She has voiced the question I haven’t wanted to ask. My son will be in his school for the next five years. His school is considered one of the absolute best public schools in the city. It is a talented and gifted school that parents would die to have their kid accepted to. When you tell people your child goes to this school, their eyes open wide and they look at your child differently. “Oh,” they say. “He must be very smart.” They are impressed. Even we were impressed when Younger Son was accepted.

Sure, we knew he was smart. Sure, we knew his vocabulary was off the charts. But there are lots of smart kids in the city. And we had absolutely no connections at the school or in city government. We were nobodies. And we were downtowners to boot. We’d been told that, although the school considers all children from District 2, it gives preference to people who live in its zone. We didn’t live in the zone. Even with all those factors against us, Younger Son was accepted. We were overjoyed.

I want to continue to remain overjoyed. I want to continue to believe that he is going to a good school. By that I mean a school that will teach him what he needs to know. I already know he is going to a nice school. I like every single person who works at, or sends their child to that school. A lot. Everyone who works at that school operates with the best intentions. But I want to believe those intentions are being channeled into using the best curriculum, methods and screening tools available.

Now this woman, this stranger who lives in Westchester, who is a totally objective observer, has said what I haven’t wanted to even think.

She has pointed out that my son’s school has royally screwed up.

She has pointed out that my son’s school did not notice that he was not reading.

At all.

I am silent.

I am upset.

The woman repeats, more urgently, “How could the school have missed that?”

“I don’t know,” I answer. “I honestly don’t know.” I realize, with a sinking feeling, that I will need to find out. I realize what I find out may not be pleasant. I don’t want it to be unpleasant. I want to continue the warm and happy interactions my family has with the school. Every single morning, either the principal or assistant principal stands at the door and greets EVERY SINGLE child by name. With a smile. Often with a hug. The motto at the school is, “Nothing without joy.”

There is so much that makes that school special.

Outstanding even.

Does it really matter if I have to teach my kid to read at home?

Is that really such a big deal?

I begin to feel depressed.

The woman is looking at me, wondering why I am not saying anything. I clear my throat. “Your daughter learned to read with the Whole Language curriculum?” I ask. “Did her school do any phonics?” (I know enough now to know that some schools using Balanced Literacy do a lot more phonics than others.)

The woman does not answer me directly. She says that her daughter couldn’t read in kindergarten, but her friends could. “She wanted to learn,” the mother says. “She was competitive. Competition can be a good thing. She learned to read over the summer.”

Okay. Last time I checked public schools are not in session in the summer.

So who taught this child whose classroom was using Balanced Literacy to read?

Her mother?

A tutor?

I am dying to ask this question but Younger Son has returned to me. He is begging me to go down to the basement with him to bring up some Power Rangers to play with. I look at Husband. He is talking to his bereaved cousin. That conversation is more important than mine. I say to the women, “Excuse me.” I go on a Power Ranger hunt with Younger Son.

When I return, woman gives me the cold shoulder. She clearly does not want to continue our conversation so I let it drop.

Husband pulls me aside. “Don’t believe a word she says about her kid’s reading,” he tells me. “People lie. This reading business is like miscarriage or breast feeding. No one ever wants to admit that they have a problem, or that things did not go as smoothly for them as they seem to have gone for other people.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I told her some of the kids in Younger Son’s class were reading Harry Potter. She said, `Oh, my kid reads Harry Potter too.’”

I am puzzled. “Her daughter wasn’t even reading last summer. How could she be reading Harry Potter now?”

“She couldn’t be. It’s bullshit. But that woman didn’t like hearing that other first graders were.”

Husband and I are standing in the kitchen when this woman leaves to go home. She walks right by us. She does not make eye contact. She does not say goobye.

“Strange,” I say. “How come she didn’t even say goodbye?”

“What I told her bothered her,” Husband replies. “Now she has to go home and teach her daughter how to read Harry Potter.”

In memory of 7-year-old Celia Rose

Feb. 16, 2007 Two years ago, over her school’s February break, 7-year-old Celia Rose FitzGerald—a second grader at P.S. 41 as well as a Saturday student at the Lee Strasberg Theater and Film Institute— went on a ski vacation with her parents and 4-year-old sister.

The Saturday before her trip, Cece (as everyone called the joy-filled little girl) told her acting instructor that she wouldn’t be there the following week. She gave her instructor a hug, and said, “Save me a lollipop.”

She would never get that lollipop because, on that following Saturday, Cece died in a skiing accident. Her passing left a huge hole in her school community, and in her family’s heart.

Imagine. Her family went on a happily anticipated ski vacation with their exuberant 7-year-old little girl and came home with her dead body.

The sheer horror of that has never left me. It probably never will. I will probably remember Celia Rose, and her family’s grief, every winter break for as long as my kids are in school. And possibly longer. Because, as we parents know, there but for the grace of God, go we.

This coming week New York City public schools are closed for winter break. This coming week marks the two-year anniversary of little Cece’s death. This coming week, as we vacation with our own kids, let’s allow Cece’s tragic death to help us remember what is most important—our kids are alive and well. They are with us. We can reach out and hug them. That is what matters. Not the color of their stick dots. Not their ability to count by doubles, or to recite The Bill of Rights, or to put commas in the right place in a sentence.

This winter break, consider putting away those phonics readers. I just stood up and pulled “Green Eggs and Ham” out of the suitcase I have packed for our ski vacation in Vermont.

Younger Son can read “Green Eggs and Ham” when we are back from vacation..

Over winter break, I will read to him only at bedtime and only for the sheer joy of it. This week, I’m going to ski and go snow tubing with him. I’m going to let him teach me how to play chess. I’m going to take him to the movies. I’m going to buy him a lollipop and look strangely sad as he eats it, since I will be buying that lollipop in honor of Celia Rose. Maybe I will have a lollipop too.

Cece’s joy and exuberance lives on through the people she touched in her short life. The little girl had appeared in numerous theater productions and planned to become an actress when she grew up. To help turn other kids’ acting dreams into reality, the Celia Rose T. Fitzgerald Memorial Scholarship Fund is financing I Can Act!, a weekly after-school theater program in public schools where children need to improve their verbal and written communication skills. To donate to the Celia Rose scholarship fund, see http://www.celiarose.org/aboutceliarose.htm, click on “home”, then on “scholarship foundation.”

And, if you are going skiing this winter break, please, please, please make sure your kid wears a helmet. Mine will. And so will I, as I remember Celia Rose.

Being a genius isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

January 21, evening. When we get home from sitting shiva, Older Son disappears into the bedroom to review Spanish for the next day’s midterm. I pull out the Dick and Jane book “Go Go Go” for Younger Son to read. If you remember, he read his first Dick and Jane story last night and he did great. Tonight, however, he takes one look at the book and begins acting the way he always acts when he feels a book is over his head.

He moans.

He squirms.

He says, “I don’t want to read that.”

“Why not?” I ask. “You did a great job last night with the first story in here.”

“I want a Bob Book.” (These are very simple, basic phonics readers.)

“But this is the next level of book you need to read. You’re ready for the next level.”

“Well, why don’t you buy the next level of Bob Books?”

It’s tough having a smart kid. His questions are always reasonable.

Part of the reason I trying to wean him from the Bob Books is because I can’t bear to listen to any more stories about Pip and Pop and Pig and Peg. I truly believe that part of the reason Whole Language was invented was because teachers couldn’t bear to listen to any more phonetically-based stories. After a while, they can become deadly boring.

However, the main reason I am switching Younger Son to Dick and Jane is because I believe the Dick and Jane books will bring Younger Son up to a higher reading level than the Bob Books will at this point because they include more sight words. (These are words that do not follow phonics rules and simply need to be memorized in order to be learned.)

Remember, speed is of the essence for us since I am trying to help Younger Son catch up to the rest of his class. Just last weekend, he announced that his reading partner had moved up to the next level of stick dots (which means a higher reading level.) That boy has been going to the extended day after school program where kids get extra help in subjects they need help with. I have not signed Younger Son up for that because attending would make his day much too long and, also, he would still be working with Whole Language-based readers, which are useless for him. They actually keep him from reading since, given the repeated word patterns in those books, he is able to easily memorize them as opposed to read them.

I say to him, “Dick and Jane books are good because they have a lot of the sight words you’ve learned. More than the Bob Books do. It’s important to practice your sight words.”

But Younger Son stands firm. He wants a Bob Book.

I think of what the mother up in Westchester had told me a few hours ago. Competition can be a good thing. It can motivate kids to do something hard. All the kids in Younger Son’s school are competitive. They are all aware of what stick dot level every single child in the class is at.

Playing to Younger Son’s sense of competition, I say, “You can read a Bob Book, but you’re the one complaining about your stick dot level. I don’t care what color your stick dot is, but if you want to move up to the next stick dot level these are the books you need to read.”

My 6-year-old, son of a journalist and a lawyer, knows all about the importance of credible sources. He looks at me now and says, “How do you know?”

I answer as seriously as if I am on the witness stand before the Supreme Court. “I am studying child development in school. Soon I am going to be a doctor of psychology. Doctors of psychology know about stuff like this.”

That is pure bullshit. Not the part about the doctorate, but the part about knowing what books kids need to read. I know that because of all the research I have recently done on the topic and from talking to other mothers who taught their kids how to read. (It doesn’t take a rocket scientist or a Ph.D. in psychology to figure it out, Mr. Klein and Mayor Bloomberg. I’m not sure why you guys are having so much trouble.)

Younger Son accepts my credibility. He looks at the Dick and Jane book. He has accepted that he will read it tonight but he is still squirming and sliding down to the end of the couch.

I don’t understand what the problem is. “What do you like about the Bob Books?” I ask. “What makes them different from Dick and Jane?”

“I don’t like reading all those pages.”

“The `Dick and Jane’ books are too long for you?”

He nods.

“You like the feeling of accomplishment you get when you finish a Bob Book?” (They are very short.)

He nods again.

“You don’t get that feeling from a Dick and Jane book, even though you know you’ve finished a story?”

He shakes his head no.

(Hello? Any book publishers out there? Are you paying attention? You can make a lot of money if you give your customers what they want. Reissue those Dick and Jane stories as single books. You’ll gain a lot more eager readers.)

I flip through the pages of “Go, Go, Go.” If I could have torn the book apart and stapled the stories together as single stories, I would have done so. But one story leads into another. The stories share front and back pages. It’s not possible. I have to find another way to give Younger Son a sense of accomplishment.

I try this angle: “You know, Dick and Jane books are like chapter books. No one reads a chapter book in one sitting. When Older Son reads a book it sometimes takes him weeks to finish it. These Dick and Jane books are chapter books.”

That makes him sit up a little straighter.

I keep going: “How about if I put a big yellow Post-it at the end of every story so you know what you need to read up to? Will that make you feel better about it?”

He nods and heads into the bedroom to retrieve Post-its from my desk. (See what I mean about determination. When the kid wants something, he instantly tries to make it happen. Unfortunately, the same holds true for what he doesn’t want. Right now he does not want to read.)

But now he sits down and I hold the book open to the same “Dick and Jane” story he read last night. I know it will be easy for him. We’ve had a long day. It’s 8:30 p.m. and I want to leave him with that all-important feeling of accomplishment.

Younger Son reads every word in the story with no problem. I think he will be happy but he complains. “I don’t like re-reading. I wish I’d read a new story.”

I have Younger Son read in order to practice sounding out his words. He, on the other hand, always reads for the sake of the story. I can’t tell you how many times I have had no idea what the book he is reading is about, while he has stopped and questioned something about the action the book is describing. So even though he is working so hard at sounding out, he is also closely following the story he is reading. I know this is very good. I know that some kids who are fluent readers at this age often have no idea what they have just read. At least Younger Son is with, or ahead of, the curve when it comes to reading for meaning.

I say, “Okay. We can read new stories from now on. We won’t re-read anymore. I thought maybe you were too tired to see new words in the next story.”

Younger Son flips through the pages of “Come,” which is the second story in the book, looking for words he does not know. I point to, and read, the words I think he does not yet know. One of them is “funny” and another is “mother.”

“I know `mother,’” says Younger Son. “Mother is in `Baby Owls.’” He is referring to one of the Whole Language books he has brought home to read a few times for homework. He then goes on to recite all the lines in that book that include the word “mother.”

“Mother Owl is looking for moths,” he chants in a monotone voice. “Mother Owl sees a big moth. Mother Owl comes to the tree…”

He hasn’t read that book in weeks. The book is not even in our home. It is lying somewhere in his book basket in school.

I watch him in amazement. How can he remember exactly which of the 15-or-so books he’s brought home to read for homework included the word “mother.”? And how can he remember every single word in the story?

Maybe the kid IS a genius.

These days, it seems that everyone wants their kid to be a genius. However, I can tell you from firsthand experience that being a genius isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Being even relatively smart causes you to realize how disingenous some of the people who hold high level posts in the Department of Education can be. More on that in a later post. Wait until you hear about my conversation with Daria Rigney, superintendent of District 2, who—while being videotaped—repeatedly insist that systematic phonics is part of the Balanced Literacy curriculum.

Ms. Rigney, even Joel Klein knows that isn’t true, and he’s no genius either. Soon you’ll be able to view the video of Rigney’s shockingly false comments at a Community Education Council-District 2 meeting on the CEC-D2 website. You’ll also view me appealing to her, saying that educators and parents need to recognize when children are letting them know Balanced Literacy isn’t working for them. For example, in kindergarten Younger Son said: “I want to read, but my school tells me to look at the pictures. Looking at pictures isn’t reading, Mommy. I want to really read but my school isn’t teaching me how.”

On the videotape you’ll be able to watch me make an emotional plea to Rigney saying that, for the good of all public school children, teachers and parents need to listen for these kinds of comments.

You’ll also be able to watch her totally dismiss me.

A picture or, in this case, a videotape does say more than a thousand words.

First day of midterms

January 22, 2007, Monday afternoon. Older Son comes home from school and says Spanish midterm was easy. Tonight, he will once again be reviewing science with Husband who is not home from work yet. I tell Older Son to get his English papers organized so that he can start studying for that midterm, which is on Wednesday.

I am in the mindset of a soldier in the midst of a battle. I know how much work Older Son still has to do. I expect him to really focus and organize with a great sense of purpose. I, in the meantime, am printing out comma and quotation mark worksheets from www.edhelper.com since his teacher has never sent home any worksheets for the kids to practice on so that they could really learn what they are expected to know.

I am hyper aware of the glaring holes in my son’s education.

I am in a bad mood.

Older Son is not.

As usual, he is calm and happy. He slowly pulls out one English paper from here, another paper from there, then leafs through his difficult, esoteric grammar book. I have a hard time understanding that book and I am an adult and a professional writer.

Older Son is looking for the pages that discuss where to put quotation marks. This is something kids in other parts of the country learn in second grade. Older Son’s elementary school never, ever, addressed the issue of where to put a comma in a date. My very smart, 12-year-old son (who was accepted to—and is certainly holding his own in—one of the most academically rigorous public middle schools in New York City) thinks that when you write a date the comma goes here: January, 21 2007. I am very aware that, in order to ace his English midterm, he still has his work cut out for him.

But he is not worried about that. As he slowly, leisurely, organizes his papers, Older Son participates in various conversations I am having with Younger Son. Then, he and Younger Son chat about the go-cart Older Son is saving up for. Younger Son wants to help him make money for the go-cart. He has made a poster for the lemonade stand they plan to set up in order to raise funds. As Older Son looks for his handout on comma rules, he discusses other strategies to boost sales at their planned lemonade stand.

His lack of urgency about organizing and then studying gets on my nerves. With every grammar worksheet I print out for him, with every word he mentions about the go-cart, I get angrier and angrier. Finally, I explode.

“Will you please get a little worried?” I yell. “You still have so much material to study for your midterms and you are not the least bit stressed about it. Will you please put the pedal to the metal and sit up straight and focus and get stressed?”

Did you catch that one? I’m yelling at my son to get stressed!

Older Son looks at me as if I am crazy. Then, as if he’s talking to a nincompoop, he calmly says, “Mom, I try not to get stressed.”

“You are not stressed because Daddy and I are stressed for you,” I yell. “We are organizing you. We are worrying for you. The least you can do is get a little worried yourself. You are having midterms this week, not us.”

“I am stressed,” Older Son says. “I just don’t show it like you do.”

“You are not stressed,” I yell. “I know when you are stressed. You get grumpy when you are stressed and you are not grumpy right now. You are totally happy and la de da about this whole thing.”

Are you listening to this? I am yelling at my son because he is not stressed. I am yelling at him because I am stressed for him. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do—protect my child from stress?

I wonder if this stress is worth it. When Older Son’s cousin, a high school senior who is an excellent student and a varsity football player, heard that Older Son was having midterms this week he said, “That’s crazy. I didn’t have midterms until I was a sophomore in high school and that was for an AP course. Why is Older Son having midterms in 7^th grade?”

Good question.

Email to Math Teacher

January 22, 2007, Monday evening. If you remember, Older Son’s math teacher sent home a 51-problem review packet for the kids to complete in order to review for their midterm. Problem is, she is not collecting that review sheet until the day of the midterm. That means the kids will not know if their answers to that review packet are correct until AFTER the midterm is over. So how could they possibly know if they do, or don’t, understand the concepts she is asking them to review?

In order to see what Older Son knows, and doesn’t know, Husband spent 12 HOURS last week doing those 51 problems himself. Husband has not yet had time to check his answers against Older Son’s.

Tonight, husband came home from work worrying that he has no way of telling if his own answers are correct or if HE fully understands math concepts like negative exponents and probability. When it comes to reviewing for the math midterm, he worries that it will be like the blind leading the blind.

Last Friday, when I had lunch with Best Friend, I told her that the math teacher was not holding any review for the kids and that she was not even collecting the review packet until the day of the midterm. Best Friend said that a teacher not reviewing a packet she handed out expressly for the sake of review was one of the strangest things she’s ever heard.

Fueled by Husband’s worry and empowered by validation from Best Friend, I send the following email:

Hi (Math Teacher’s name),

Older Son has completed the review packet. Is there any chance he and the other kids could get the answers to the review packet from you tomorrow or Wed? If they do not have the answers before the day of the midterm there is no way for them to know if they got the answers right and, so, there is no way for them to know what they need to work on. (Sometimes they think they know it but they don’t really know it.) Older Son doesn’t have class with you tomorrow but he could bring his packet to you in the morning. Thanks.

Sincerely,

My name

(Older Son’s mom)

As I send the email, I wonder why Math Teacher is not holding in-class review for the midterm. I wonder if she really thinks a take-home review sheet with no answers is useful. I wonder if she assumed the parents would be reviewing with their kids. I wonder why she didn’t help the parents by emailing them the answers. All of us would have had our kids do the problems. (After all there’s a reason why we all chose NEST for our kids. We care about their educations and want them to develop as thinkers and learners.) If we had been given the answers, all of us could then have easily checked which problems our kids got wrong and helped them figure out why.

I think about how, last year, the former middle school director—unasked—sent home a sheet of recommended tutors to every single parent of a child who had just entered middle school.

I think about the sign that used to hang just inside the entrance to NEST+m. “A public school with a private school mission,” the sign proclaimed.

After a few months at the school, I had wondered if that mission was to torture (with overwork) every single child in the school, as well as their parents.

Now I wonder if that mission is to fuel the tutoring industry. It’s a well known fact that practically every single kid enrolled in an academically rigorous private school is tutored. Usually in more than one subject.

Private school parents who can afford tutors, have a life.

Most public school parents (me and Husband included) cannot afford tutors.

Some private school parents can’t either.

So we help our kids ourselves.

So we have no life.

So we complain.

And moan.

At least I do. Publicly.

Writing this blog helps me get through what we are experiencing. It helps me to hear from other parents that we are not alone. It also helps me to know that I am posting information that is helping other families. (Especially the “How to teach your child to read” article in the “Elementary School” section. That has even helped families in other states!)

Friends and relatives ask me why we stay at NEST+m, given how the rigorous academics have affected our family’s life. Simple. Our son is getting a heck of an education. Arguably, the best education that a public school in New York City has to offer. And if we have to give up having a life for a few years in order to help him get it, then so be it.

But we’re still entitled to complain about it.

As I hear from more and more of you, I am slowly realizing that the world has inextricably changed. I am learning that what we are experiencing is the norm in “good” schools, not the exception. I hear more and more parents say that it’s the parents that make a school look good, not just the school. More and more of you are saying that it’s the school—public or private—that sets the curriculum and the parents who make sure that curriculum gets learned. (Or supplemented if it’s a bad curriculum.) These are things you don’t know until your kid is in the school system. And then you realize there’s nothing you can do to change it. It sort of feels like someone shot you right between the eyes, doesn’t it?

Where’s The Spelling?

January 22, 2007. Monday evening, continued. By the time Husband comes home from work, I have fed the kids dinner. Older Son has even showered already, so he won’t have to take the time to do it later. He is ready to buckle down and study for the rest of the night.

Husband and Older Son disappear into the bedroom to review science. In case you missed the science midterm study rubric in an earlier post, here it is again. (To be posted soon.) You can see why Husband and Older Son spend the rest of the night reviewing.

I clean up the kitchen, then sit down to do homework and reading with Younger Son. I eat my dinner—pretzels, cheddar cheese and green grapes—while I work with Younger Son. I don’t know what Husband ate. I don’t think he ate anything. Neither one of us had the energy to even order in anything resembling a real meal.

And to think that in my former life as a magazine editor, I conceived and assigned articles on the benefits of families eating dinner together.

These days we’re lucky if we eat, period.

Every night, the first thing Younger Son does for homework is read, spell and write his weekly spelling words. Because the words his first grade class has been doing are way over his head, (they are words like “there,” “their,” “night,” and “right”) I have asked his teacher if Younger Son could have easier spelling words. In some schools, first grade teachers give each child individualized lists of spelling words based on their reading ability, or what they spell wrong in their writing, so that each is working on what they need to master as individuals. I think that is a brilliant idea but that is not the way things are done in Younger Son’s school even though Younger Son is not the only one having a hard time with the words. (The parents of the kids who are also struggling with them are keeping that struggle a secret.)

I ask Younger Son’s teacher if it would be OK if I could send her weekly suggestions of words for Younger Son to work on in spelling. I would base these suggestions on the words I see him misspelling at home (he spells “of” as “uv,” for example) as well as on the sight words I am teaching him. I am following the 11 lists of sight words on www.theschoolbell.com. That website lists sight words in order of frequency of use so that you can easily see which sight words kids need to know the most, as well as which ones are easiest. I figure it makes sense to teach your kid the easier words first before moving on to the hard ones.

I worried about whether Younger Son’s teacher would be open to having me suggest spelling words for Younger Son, based on the mistakes I saw him making at home. I didn’t want to step on her toes. A teacher could conceivably say, “Go to hell. This is my class and this is what a kid is expected to know in my class.” I have heard stories of this happening at academically rigorous public and private schools. I’ve heard stories of tremendous pressure being put on kids to match, and keep up with, the class curve. I have heard of kids being thrown out because they cannot keep up.

Thank God Younger Son’s school is not like that. His teacher was totally open to Younger Son having his own set of words and to me suggesting which ones they should be. For the past few weeks I have been sending in a list of four recommended spelling words each Monday. Each Monday, the teacher has written my suggested words into his spelling notebook.

Every week, Younger Son has aced his spelling quiz. But, more importantly, he tends to spell his spelling words correctly when he uses them in his writing and he always recognizes them in his reading. That means he has really retained that information and is applying it to his other work. I hear stories about other kids in his class who learn their more difficult spelling words for the quiz and then forget how to spell them the next week. Other kids are having a hard time learning some of the words. One mother told me she got so frustrated that her kid wasn’t nailing the spelling words that she took her kid by the arms and shook her child out of frustration.

This is in FIRST GRADE.

I told that mother to ask the teacher to give her child easier spelling words too but she did not want to do that. She is worried that will make her child feel bad. She thinks her child is capable of keeping up with the Joneses and she wants her child to do so.

My child cannot keep up with the Joneses. Not yet. I know that frustrating him and pushing him beyond his capability is fruitless and will backfire. So, at my request, Younger Son is the only child in his class who gets his own personalized set of spelling words. He is aware of that fact but he does not seem to mind. Even though he doesn’t complain about it—and seems to welcome having words he can actually learn and retain—I have told him a few times that the reason he has his own spelling words is because I failed to teach him to read at home when he was in kindergarten, the way the other mothers taught their children. I constantly reassure him that he will be caught up to the other kids by second grade.

“Second grade is the great equalizer,” one mother told me. She knows because a few mothers of older kids have told her that. (We mothers know a lot more than we think we know. We mothers need to stop looking so much to experts for advice but that is the topic of a whole other post.) “Second grade is when the kids all begin performing on the same level,” that mother said.

I am looking forward to second grade.

Tonight, I open Younger Son’s spelling notebook and see…nothing. The column where his spelling words should have been written is blank. On top of the page where the words should have been, the teacher has written “chose 4 words for this week.”

Chose?

Chose is past tense. If she chose 4 words for this week where are they?

Did she mean to write “choose”? Was this note to me or was it a note to the assistant teacher telling her that she had chosen four special words for Younger Son? Had the assistant teacher forgotten to write them down? Last week, when Younger Son’s teacher was out on jury duty, the assistant teacher had forgotten to write Younger Son’s individualized list in the notebook. Instead, he came home with the same spelling words that the rest of the class was being quizzed on:

Last week, Younger Son opened his spelling book at home, took one look at the class spelling words—should, could, would, one, because—and slammed the book shut, saying, “I can’t do those words. No way.”

Last week, I felt terrible for Younger Son. It’s bad enough to be the only kid in the class getting your own list of spelling words. It’s bad enough that he knows it. But to have your nose rubbed in it the way it was last week couldn’t be a good thing.

And now, this week’s page in his spelling notebook is blank.

I ask Younger Son if his teacher said anything about what words he should learn this week.

“No.”

“Okay,” I say. “These are the words your teacher was supposed to give you.”

I write “do,” “don’t,” “done,” and “down” on the blank page.

Much to my surprise, Younger Son doesn’t comment as I write the words in his notebook.

I would have preferred if he thought his spelling words were coming from his teacher and not from me. (That is why I have been writing them on a piece of paper and tucking them into Younger Son’s backpack each Monday morning.) I do not want him to know that I am steering his spelling curriculum.

I am already teaching him how to read.

I don’t want him to become used to me being his teacher. I am afraid that will cause him to tune out to what is happening in the classroom because he knows Mommy will pick up the slack at home. But I am also grateful that he is able to learn exactly what he needs to know and that he is not being put under pressure to learn words he is not yet ready for.

I decide maybe his teacher had a hard day. I don’t say anything but Younger Son, on his own, has a similar thought.

He says his teacher was so mad at the class today that she allowed only four of them to go to music. “The rest of us had to sit on the rug and keep on doing what we had been doing that got her so mad,” he says.

I have been at recess duty at Younger Son’s school. I know what his teacher is up against.

Younger Son’s school has a clear preference for extroverted children. In addition to being super bright, the kids in Younger Son’s class are super verbal and super outgoing. I don’t know how his teacher manages to keep them quiet enough to teach them anything at all. On the day I visited his school during open school week, I was exhausted just from watching how much energy the teacher put out not just teaching the class but keeping the kids in line. She did a masterful job of it. I was so impressed with how much work it was to teach these 28 extroverted chatterboxes that I was going to send her flowers the next day just to say, “Thank you.” And “I am in awe of what you do.”

I am aware that with a group of 28 extraverted children to teach each day—each of whom has his or her own individual strength and weaknesses—it is very easy for one child to slip through the cracks. From talking to other parents I’ve heard that that’s happened to lots of kids in public schools.

It happened to Older Son in second grade when no one at his elementary school noticed that he had no idea how to subtract large numbers. (The school used the TERC Investigations curriculum and never administered any math tests or quizzes.)

Now it has happened to Younger Son with reading, and spelling too. If I hadn’t told his school that I was teaching him how to read at home and that I needed the school’s help in doing so, his teacher and principal would have continued telling me that Younger Son’s reading was fine since he was making progress. (Of course he was making progress. He was learning how to read at home.) If I hadn’t pointed out that Younger Son still didn’t know very rudimentary spelling words, no one would thought to have him learn those easy words first before, fruitlessly, moving on to much harder ones.

I am upset about what a disaster Younger Son’s first grade experience would have been had I not insisted there was a real problem with his reading. Let’s be clear about the problem: No one was teaching him how to do it! Instead of being taught how to phonetically sound out words, he was being told to guess what the words were from the pictures.

I don’t share any of my upset with Younger Son. I am glad he is fine with doing my lists of spelling words since I know these are the words he really needs to work on. (Just last Saturday I had been stunned to realize he did not know how to read the word “do” even though he knows lots of harder sight words.) I am grateful I caught my child as he was slipping through the cracks before he fell to the bottom and was irreversibly broken. I am glad no damage has been done to my son’s perception of himself as a learner. (At least I hope there has been no damage.)

I am glad Younger Son is, now, working on the basics that every child needs to learn in order to be a reader and writer.

I watch Younger Son as, one by one, he reads each spelling word, spells it, covers it and writes it three times. After he is done with spelling, he completes two pages in the Explode the Code 1 ½ phonics workbook. On one page he was supposed to look at the pictures and then circle the word that best describes the picture. On the other page he was supposed to just write the word that best goes with the picture.

Younger Son loved doing the Explode the Code 1 workbook. (I will always be grateful to the mother who recommended it to me.) As Younger Son worked his way through Book 1, he began asking to do it on his own, with absolutely no help from me. (I’m all for that and want to get that independent work started as early as possible.) However, the illustrations in the next book in the series (Book 1 1/2) are so bad that independent work is not possible. Younger Son had no problem with the circling and writing of the words but both of us had a hard time figuring out what the pictures were actually showing. So I tell him that the word that goes with the picture that looks like a tray is actually “pan” and so on.

More to follow in a few days. Have to go earn a living now…

First grade is a tough, tough world these days

Jan. 22, 2007. Monday evening, continued. Every night, Younger Son reads two short books—a Whole Language one that he brings home from school, as well as a phonics-based book that I give him.

Today, he forgot to bring home a book to read from school, thank God. I hate those books. Because they don’t follow any systematic approach to teaching they don’t move Younger Son forward in any way that can be seen or measured so they don’t give him any sense of accomplishment.

I have him read a Dick and Jane story in its place. He then writes the title of that story into the daily reading log he keeps for school. He has consistently refused to enter any Bob Books into his reading log because they were not books he brought home from school. Today, he writes the Dick and Jane title in his reading log without comment. I am surprised that he is willing to log this story. In earlier weeks if he forgot a book he would bring home two books the next day, read both and then log each book into separate days.

I don’t say anything about him logging Dick and Jane. I don’t want to make an issue of it . Ideally, I would like him to only read the books I select for him and to completely ignore the Whole Language books he brings home from school. At the same time, I want him to respect his school and his teacher and the books in his classroom. That is why I have never pushed to have him enter a phonics book into his log. But, now, I am glad he has shown me that he thinks the Dick and Jane stories can be logged as homework reading too.

When he is done writing, I say, “Okay. Let’s read the next Dick and Jane story too.”

Younger Son gives me a mischievous look. “Can I have M&Ms as a reward?”

In the past, I have given Younger Son M&Ms as a reward for doing extra pages in Explode the Code or for reading extra stories.

“No way,” I say. “This is homework. You read two stories with me every night. This is not extra.”

But Younger Son does not want to read a second story.

He moans.

He squirms.

He argues and argues and argues with me about it.

But I am not giving in. He has a quota to meet and he will meet it.

He is not tired and these stories are just the right level for him. They do not frustrate him. He can read them very easily so the reading itself is not a problem. He is arguing for the sake of arguing and in the hope that I will give in and pull out the M&Ms.

Until now, I have done a masterful job of keeping the process of learning to read fun and completely stress free for Younger Son. (I’m the one who has been a basket case about it. Figuring out how to teach and inspire and motivate him has taken up all my waking moments.)

Until now, I have rarely appealed to Younger Son’s sense of competition. But last Saturday scared me. That was the day I realized that, even though he knows many of the more difficult sight words, he does not know some of the most basic ones like “do” and “so.” Last Saturday I became aware of how much rudimentary work he still has to do.

Until now, learning to read has been fun for Younger Son.

Because he is behind the kids in his class, I have not wanted to draw attention to their abilities or to their own experiences with learning how to read. I did not want to stress him out or make him feel bad.

Now, I decide to light a fire underneath Younger Son’s extraordinarily keen sense of competition.

And so I say, “Do you know how many books Kid in Your Class had to read every night when Kid in Your Class was learning how to read?” (Kid in Your Class learned to read at home at the age of four.)

“How many?” Younger Son asks. I have his full attention. He is very interested in this.

“Four.”

Younger Son is speechless, which is a rare occurrence for him. He opens his eyes wide and stares at me.

“That’s right,” I say. “Kid in Your Class read four books.”

“Every day?” he squeaks.

“Every day,” I say.

Then smiling, but using the voice of a gruff Marine sergeant, I say, “It’s a tough world out there, kid. That’s what people do to learn to read. That’s what you’ve got to do too. But I think two books is enough, don’t you?”

He nods. He reads the second story without any complaint.

He does not slouch.

He does not squirm.

Then he looks at me and says, “If I read more than two, will you give me M&Ms?”

“Sure,” I say.

Inspired in part by Kid in His Class and in part by the promise of M&Ms, Younger Son reads another story. And then another. And then another.

With each story he finishes, I feel the way a coach does when his player scores a goal. At the end of each story, I say a silent, “Yes!”

Each story he completes marks another goal, another step towards my child becoming a fluent reader.

Can my reading partner do this too? (I hope not.)

January 21, 2007. (Monday evening, continued.) Younger Son reads three additional Dick and Jane stories, taking a mini packet of M&Ms at the end of each one. When he finishes reading the last story (“The Boats Go”) I say, “Wow! That was great. That was hard.”

“That wasn’t hard.”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t hard for you but it was hard. Look at all these new words in the story—little, blue, yellow.”

“Do you think Reading Partner can do this?” Younger Son asks. Now that I have fanned the flame of Younger Son’s competitive instinct, it is burning brightly.

“No,” I lie.

Honestly, I don’t know what Reading Partner can do. I know Reading Partner has been moved up to the next reading level, while Younger Son has not. I know Reading Partner is not being pulled out of class to learn phonics with the reading specialist while Younger Son is. (Thank God.) But Reading Partner’s mom has told me that Reading Partner had a hard time with Explode the Code (the phonics workbook that made reading click for Younger Son). So maybe Younger Son and Reading partner are developing different skills at their own paces.

Younger Son now says, “Reading Partner says he reads `Magic Tree House’ books at home. And those are pink stick dots.”

God, whoever invented the stick dot system as a method of differentiating different levels of reading ability should be shot. Younger Son knows the order of all the dots. In case you are interested it is: green, blue, red, yellow, orange, purple, pink, white.

Younger Son is reading green and blue stick dot books. Reading Partner is reading blue and red ones.

“Reading Partner does not read all the words in `Magic Tree House,’” I say. “His mother told me he reads the words he knows in Magic Tree House.” (We met again for coffee last week after I began worrying about why Reading Partner had moved up a reading level while Younger Son had not. I had wanted to know what had caused Reading Partner to move ahead. I wanted to know what Reading Partner’s mother had done that I had not. She had told me that being able to read many of the words in a `Magic Tree House’ book had been very inspiring for Reading Partner.)

Younger Son has never mentioned Magic Tree House books before but now that he has I want him to have the same sense of inspiration as Reading Partner. So I say, “You can read what Reading Partner reads in `Magic Tree House.’ We have those books.”

“We do?” Younger Son looks excited.

“Yes. Look.”

I go to the bottom shelf of the bookcase filled with kids’ books. The bottom shelf is full of books Older Son has outgrown but Younger Son is not yet ready for. I point to the neat row of 24 Magic Tree House books.

 Younger Son is absolutely delighted. He pulls out all 24 books and arranges them in numerical order. He then makes a stack of all them and carries the tall stack into the bedroom where Husband and Older Son are reviewing science.

“Look Older Son! Look Daddy!” he cries.

They both ignore him.

They are both completely focused on Older Son’s science midterm review.

“Look guys,” I say. “This is very important.”

They look.

“I’m reading the Magic Tree House books!” Younger Son says, beaming with delight.

They both ooh and ah appropriately. Then Older Son says, “Take good care of them. I used my book fair money to buy those books.”

Older Son has always loved reading and he has always taken excellent care of his books. Even though he has read most of them more than once, they all look like new.

Younger Son carries the books to the couch. He deposits them next to his usual seat, then scrambles up next to them. He pages through three of them in delight, looking at the pictures and asking me questions about them. I can’t answer his questions because I have never read these books. “Older Son was older than you when he was reading these books,” I say. “He was in second or third grade.” I don’t think these books were even available in Older Son’s first grade classroom.

“Want to see what you can read in one?” I ask.

Younger Son nods. Together, we read the first five paragraphs of one of the books. I read the words I know he does not know and pause so he can read the ones he does know. He does very well. He reads: help, is, said, in, run, Jack, she, ran, up, the. He sounds out other words, such as “brother” and “spending.” He has a hard time with “for.” He keeps reading it as “of.” I realize “”for” needs to be one of next week’s spelling words.

I am impressed with what Younger Son was able to read. I expect him to be impressed too but he is not. At least not in any way that is apparent to me.

After the first five paragraphs he says, “Okay. That’s enough.”

There is no sense of pride, but there is also no sense of discouragement.

There is…nothing.

He flips through the rest of the book, looking at the pictures.

I sit next to him, waiting to see if he will look at, or read, any of the other words in the book.

Nope. As I said before, his behavior leaves me with an odd sense of…nothing.

Then I start to feel bad. I am pretty sure that, instead of focusing on all the words he could read, Younger Son focused on al the words he couldn’t read. I decide that tomorrow, when Younger Son is at school, I will put the Magic Tree House books back on the shelf.

The next day I do put them back and they end up sitting there for a long time.

LLLLLLL is for love

January 21, 2007 (Monday evening, continued.) The kids are asleep. Husband is exhausted from a full day’s work and an evening devoted entirely to quizzing Older Son for tomorrow’s science midterm. He is laying down in bed. This is the time we usually catch up with each other about how our respective days went. Tonight we don’t do that. Instead, I lay on my back next him, place my laptop on my stomach, go online and, Google “How to teach your child to read.”

I click on an article about a woman in Great Britain who taught her kid to read when her kid was 2-years-old. She then began teaching kids in her local preschools how to read. The preschools stopped the program when the elementary schools complained that they didn’t know what to do with the kids who already knew how to read since many other kids did not yet know how to do so.

I wish that would happen here in New York.

I wish someone would say—Stop this madness! But, of course, no one will.

Things will never, ever, go back to the way they used to be. I know that kids will forever be expected to know more and more at earlier ages. At least until someone listens to all the experts who are ringing every warning bell possible, warning how bad this academic push down is for kids, how it is stressing them out and causing them to hate school. (I must stress that in Younger Son’s school this push down is NOT coming from the school administration. The school stresses that kids learn at their own speeds and never, ever, makes a child feel bad about not keeping up with the curve. These are smart kids and the school knows they will all catch up with each other in time. The push down is being caused by the parents and it is the kids who make each other feel bad about lagging behind. They are intensely aware of each other’s reading level.)

Last year when my son was in kindergarten, I thought all the parents who were teaching their kindergartners to read were hurrying things for no reason. I wanted nothing to do with pushing kids to read too early. I only wish I’d realized sooner how the fact that almost everybody else was teaching their kids to read at home (or sending them to place like SCORE! at the age of three) would affect my own child.

And me.

And Husband.

And our work.

And our marriage.

And our lives.

Laying next to Husband on our bed, I click on a link to a book that can teach your kid to read in 100 easy lessons. I click on a sample lesson. It tells you how to teach your kid the sound that the letter “m” makes. It instructs you to have the child say, “MMMMMMMMMMMM.”

Outloud, I say, “MMMMMMMMMMMMM.”

I sound like a cow, in pain.

Husband looks at me, startled. “Excuse me?” he says.

I grin at him and say, “MMMMMMMMMMMM. You have to say that outloud in order to teach your kid the sound that “m” makes. Thank God Younger Son learned that in school.”

Husband says, “I love you.”

I am taken aback. Husband has spent the whole night quizzing Older Son on his science notes. I thought husband’s mind would be full of velocity and acceleration, not love.

“Where is that coming from?” I ask.

Husband says, “We don’t get to talk much these days and I just want you to know that I love you.”

He closes his eyes and goes to sleep. He doesn’t even kiss me. But his unexpected words feel like a kiss. They were so heartfelt and genuine that they mean more to me than wine, or roses, or a long backrub although maybe when the kids are in college we’ll have time for those things too.

How much time do I give them to simply be brothers, to simply be boys?

January 22, 2007 (Tuesday afternoon.) Older Son gets home from school. Says science midterm was easy.

Okay.

We’ll see what his grade is.

I’ve noticed that Older Son usually does his best when he thinks a test is hard. That’s when he really focuses on the questions. When he thinks a test is easy, he relaxes too much and when he relaxes he makes careless mistakes.

I feel a bit more relaxed than I have in weeks. That is because one of Older Son’s most challenging midterms is over and the English teacher has promised that tomorrow’s English midterm will be easy. Older Son knows the 20 SAT vocabulary words he needs to know for the midterm as well as the literary concepts. The only thing he definitely does not have a good handle on is grammar. (No surprise since the English teacher never sent home any worksheets for the kids to use to really nail the concepts.) Tonight, Older Son will need to do the grammar worksheets I have printed out for him from www.edhelper.com. Then he and Husband will begin comparing the answers they got for the math review packet they each completed on their own.

Compared with Older Son’s usual work load from NEST+m, that’s nothing!

So, when Younger Son asks Older Son a question, I let Older Son answer it.

On most other school nights, my kids don’t have time to talk to each other, or to me.

On most other nights, if Younger Son had asked Older Son a question I would have said, “Older Son needs to do his homework.”

This week, I would have said, “Older Son, needs to start studying.”

But now, I say nothing.

I smile as I prepare an afterschool snack for my kids and listen to them simply be brothers. For the first time in a long time, I feel like we are a normal family instead of homework machines. I hang on to every word as Younger Son tells Older Son that his friends want to trade Pokemon cards with him. He asks Older Son for advice on which cards to trade.

Older Son had been sitting at the dining room table, ready to start studying his English when Younger Son started talking to him. Now, he turns away from his books and gives Younger Son a long, detailed explanation of Pokemon card trading. Then he stands up and goes to sit next to Younger Son on the floor. The two of them sit, shoulder-to-shoulder, examining Younger Son’s Pokemon card collection. With great seriousness, they discuss the merits of each card.

Finally, Older Son leaves Younger Son with the following words of wisdom: “Look for a number 70 or higher on the card. Never trade for a lower number.”

I know Younger Son will listen, completely, to what Older Son has told him.

Over the years Older Son has imparted much wisdom to Younger Son. When Younger Son was starting kindergarten, Older Son sat him down for a very serious conversation. It went like this: “When you go to the cafeteria for lunch, older kids will offer to give you Fruit Roll-ups or candy if you agree to be their slave. Don’t do it. It’s a bad deal.”

That was the summer before Older Son started NEST+m. Since he started NEST+m, Older Son and his brother rarely have time for conversations like that, even on the weekends.

I am glad that, tonight, they had a chance to be brothers again. Even if it was just for 20 minutes.

After all, that’s what life is about—having a relationship with the people you love.

Talking to people you love, even if it’s just for 20 minutes a day, is more important than knowing the definition of perambulate or the formula for velocity?

Isn’t it?

Is it the student or the teacher?

January 23, 2007, Tuesday evening. Husband, Older Son and Younger Son are home.

I am in school.

I am in the first meeting of Statistics 3, the very last course I need to take in order to earn a Ph.D. in psychology.

I and my 20 adult classmates have a lot in common with the kids at NEST+m.

We have all been hand-picked to be a part of this program.

All of us have extremely high GPAs.

All of us are smart.

Hard working.

Extraordinarily motivated.

And, as sometimes happens to all students at all schools, the vast majority of us are totally lost.

We have no idea what the Stats professor is talking about as he discusses concepts we should have learned in Stats 2.

Stats 3 teacher knows we had a lousy teacher for Stats 2. That teacher ended up being fired mid-semester and was replaced by another teacher who presented complex subjects so fast and furiously that none of us had a clue what she was talking about. Stats 3 Professor has a feeling that many of us have not learned what we need to know in order to understand what he will be teaching us this semester.

Stats 3 professor is asking questions to determine what we all know. Only one guy (who did not take Stats 2 with the rest of us) is raising his hand to answer. Stats Prof finally tells that guy to put a lid on it. Stats Prof wants to see what the rest of us know or, more appropriately, don’t know.

Stats Prof asks us question after question. Most of us simply do not respond. Those who do respond give wrong answers. As this goes on and on, I become impatient. I don’t want the class to drag on. I have two kids at home.

One of them has an English midterm tomorrow.

The other one needs to learn how to read.

I don’t have time to waste.

Finally, as yet another student gives yet another wrong answer, I raise my hand and say, “I can only speak for myself but I think I am speaking for many other people in here. I did fine in Stats 2. I was able to complete the project for the semester as well as all the homework assignments. But I can tell you that I have retained nothing from that class and I wouldn’t be able to tell you which statistical analysis you need to do when. Sitting here right now I feel as if I never took Stats 2 at all and I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Stats 3 Professor says, “How many other people in here feel that way?”

Every single person in the class (except for the one guy who had another teacher for Stats 2) raises their hand.

Stats 3 Professor sighs. He tells us this is very common. He says most doctoral students have bad teachers for statistics. He says most doctoral students are clueless as to why they are running the statistical analysis they are running. He says he will do his best to bring us up to speed.

Then he does nothing about it. Let me jump ahead for the moment. I can tell you that in the next four classes Stats Prof will do absolutely no review of fundamental concepts, even though he knows most of us are clueless. Instead, he will teach us how to use an entirely new computer program and how to do an entirely new, and advanced, form of statistical analysis. After all, like most teachers, he has a curriculum to impart. He can’t take the time to fix another Professor’s wrongs even though he is fully aware of them.

I can tell you that the entire class (including the guy who actually learned something in Stats 2) does not understand many, many things in Stats 3. Yet none of us say anything about it to the professor. The whole class buys the textbook and tries to dope out what the professor is saying in class by reading that book. As he teaches, Professor also suggests we Google the various topics to come to understand them better.

His comments imply that if we don’t understand something we are expected to figure it out for ourselves.

We do so because we are adults.

We do so because the thought of having to take Stats 3 again is a nightmare for all of us.

We do so because we have already been through high school and college and most of graduate school. We have been lost before.

Our kids have not.

Our kids think that when they don’t understand something it is because something is wrong with them. They are afraid to raise their hands and ask questions because they don’t want to appear stupid in front of the rest of the class.

When our kids come home and say they do not understand something it is so easy for us to blame our kids

Why didn’t they get this in school? we wonder. What’s wrong with them?

I write this post only to remind all of you that it isn’t always our kids. It takes two for information to be retained by a student—it takes a good teacher who is tuned in to what the kids are getting, and not getting, as well as an attentive student.

Last year most of the sixth grade parents at NEST+m spent much time teaching their kids concepts they weren’t getting in school. We kept that fact a secret because we all thought it was only our kid who was struggling. As more of us got to know each other and began talking to each other, we realized our kids were all in the same boat. Our kids were ALL not understanding certain concepts.

I write this post to suggest that all of us—no matter what school our kids go to—need to stop thinking that it’s only our kid. We need to let our kids know that when they do not understand something the teacher has said, they are rarely alone. We need to tell them that the sign of a smart student is a student who is not afraid to ask questions. We need to let them know that if they don’t understand something the chances are extraordinarily high that someone else in the class doesn’t understand it either.

Earlier this year, one of the NEST+m teachers told me, “We treat the kids as if they are adults.”

I have one thing to say about that.

Cut it out.

They are not adults.

Last time I checked, my son was 12-years-old.

When one of Older Son’s classmates came over last year to work on a school project, the boy dived into playing with my six-year-old’s blocks and toy airplanes. When the kids went on a field trip to the Museum of Natural History this year, some of the boys bought a souvenir. Did they buy tough, big-boy toys like rockets? No. The vast majority bought a stuffed animal and openly hugged that stuffed animal on the train ride back to school. (I was delighted to see that this group of boys had managed to avoid gender stereotyping, at least when it came to the kind of toys they play with. Good job, moms!)

We moms know that our kids are children. Our KIDS know they are children. But some teachers at NEST+m forget that.

Children are often afraid to tell a teacher they don’t understand something. It is a teacher’s responsibility to tune into whether or not they are getting it and to slow down and re-explain a concept if that is the case. But teachers cannot be mind readers. We parents need to tell our kids that it is their responsibility to let the teacher know when they are lost.

We parents need to tell our kids over and over again that asking questions is the SMART thing to do. That way our kids will be able to shine in middle school, and eventually in graduate school too!

Email from math teacher.

January 23, 2007, Tuesday, 8:15 p.m. I get home from school. Older Son tells me he is ready for his English midterm. He feels confident he will do well on it.

I look at my son, who has gotten so much taller and even handsomer in recent days.

I am proud of him.

I am proud of how far he has come as a student and of how hard he is willing to work.

As I hang up my coat and put my own school books away, Husband and Older Son sit down and begin comparing the answers they each got to the 51 problem midterm review packet the math teacher sent home. (In earlier posts I described how it took Husband twelve hours to do those problems himself since he had didn’t remember how to do many of them. Older Son did the problems a lot quicker.)

Now, Older Son and Husband see that many of their answers are the same. When an answer is different, they both redo the problem and then compare their strategies to figure out which one of them got it right. Without an answer key, there is no way to tell for sure.

I log onto my email service to see if math teacher has responded to the email I sent yesterday asking her to please give all the kids the answers to her massive review packet so that the kids could—gasp!—actually know what they got wrong and review the concepts underlying those wrong answers.

She emailed a response this afternoon. Her email says: “ I will be giving out the answers on Thursday and the students will have time to review the answers and ask questions during that time. Thanks for your concerns.”

Concerns?

I am more than concerned.

I am worried sick.

She is giving the kids the answers to 51 complicated problems on Thursday.

Thursday is two days away. Thursday is THE DAY BEFORE THE MIDTERM!

The kids will have only one class period in which to check their answers against hers and then to ask her questions about what they don’t know.

Forty minutes to do all that?

We had hoped the teacher would actually hold a real review with the kids with enough time for them to practice the math concepts they have not yet mastered.

It ain’t happenin’.

Older Son explains that the math teacher is teaching them new concepts in order to prepare them for the New York State math test they will be taking in March. “I guess she doesn’t have time to review for the midterm,” he says.

“Then she should have let all the parents have the answers so that we could review with you,” I say. “Right now it’s the blind leading the blind.” (I guess that’s why so many parents have hired math tutors.)

Husband sighs.

Tonight will be a long night.

So will tomorrow night and so will Thursday night.

We already know it.

We are ready for it.

I want to read this!

January 23, 2007, Tuesday. It is 10 pm. Younger Son should be asleep but he is not. He and Older Son share a room. Usually, when Younger Son goes to sleep Older Son keeps Younger Son company. Tonight Older Son is still reviewing math and Younger Son is resisting going to sleep since Older Son is not with him.

Younger Son asks if he can “read” a book in bed. He does this often but when he “reads” in bed by himself he just looks at the pictures. I have never made an issue out of this and always let him enjoy his “reading” time. Now, I tell him to pick a book and to stay in bed while he “reads” and that I will be out to tuck him in and turn out the light in a few minutes.

I go into the bedroom and try to tune out Older Son and Husband’s math work. I tackle the paper clutter that always accumulates on my dresser, no matter how hard I try to keep up with it.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opens.

Younger Son walks in holding a Little Critter book called “Bye-Bye Mom and Dad.”

“Get back into bed,” I say.

But then he says words that I have been waiting to hear, words I never thought I would hear from him. He says: “I want to read this.”

“You want to read that book?” My voice is a little too high pitched. I swallow hard. I know my excitement is a little too obvious but I can’t help it. I would let Younger Son stay up until midnight if he announced he wanted to read a book. Any book.

“I want to read this page.” He opens the book to a page showing Little Critter dropping his kids’ meal out the car window at the drive-through window of “Critter Burger.” He points to one of the crooked, seemingly hand lettered words in the picture and says, “I can’t tell what that word is.” He sounds out “s-l-u.” That is all it says on a paper cup in the picture. I assume they are the first three letters of “slurpy.” I say that to Younger Son and then I explain that a “slurpy” is a thick, cold drink with a lot of ice.

We look at the rest of the words in the picture together. I have him sound out the words I know he can read, such as “Critter Burger” and I simply read him “drive-thru” as well as the crooked, hard-to-read letters on an arrow that say “Arrow Gas. The Best.”

Younger Son’s words—“I want to read”—show that he has taken two big steps.

First, he has started actually looking at the words in the books he takes into bed at night.

Second, he is facing unfamiliar words with a more proactive attitude. In the past, whenever he came across words he did not know, Younger Son would say things like, “Can you read this to me?” or “What does this say?” Those questions always placed him in the position of a being a passive recipient of another person’s reading.

By saying, “I want to read this” Younger Son has let me know that he is ready to take a more active role in reading.

I have heard him.

I am ready to take him to the next level.

Perhaps I already have.

Earlier tonight, Younger Son read the last story in the Dick and Jane book we’ve been working on together. (That book contains six stories.) I made a big deal out of the fact that he finished the whole book, a book he didn’t want to even want to go near just one week ago. I made a big deal out of how far he’s come, and how hard he is willing to work. I told him I am very proud of the effort he is willing to expend on learning to read. I told him I am even more proud of his effort than of the fact that he is reading, although I am happy about that too because I know how much he wants to read as well as many of the other kids in his class do.

Tonight he has shown me that he is one more step closer to doing just that.

E-mail to Younger Son’s former kindergarten teacher

January 23, 2007 Tuesday. At the end of kindergarten, Younger Son’s kindergarten teacher had sent each of her students a note saying that even though they have all moved on to first grade, she considers herself their “teacher for life.” (You see why I love Younger Son’s school even though I am not a fan of its Balanced Literacy reading curriculum? The teachers are amazingly warm and dedicated. Plus, they never, ever, pressure a child and they are remarkably open to communicating with the parents.)

Earlier this afternoon, I sent Younger Son’s former kindergarten teacher an email jokingly saying that I was going to take her up on her offer of lifetime service. Read on to see what else I let her know.

Hi Teacher for Life :),

I wanted to tell you about a conversation a few moms and I had last week. We were all sitting in (the pizzeria across the street from Younger Son’s school) talking about how so many parents had taught their kids phonics at home and how people like Mother of Younger Son’s Reading Partner and I were now playing catch up because we hadn’t done so. One of the moms said, “Don’t you think we should tell the school about this? Don’t you think we should set up a meeting with them and tell them what we’re doing at home? I know it’s too late for us but maybe we could help the parents of the current and future kindergarten classes so that they wouldn’t have to go through what we went through.”

I told the moms that I had already mentioned to you the other day at dismissal that parents had done phonics at home. But they thought there should maybe be bigger and broader communication between us and the school about that.

So I am the chosen delegate and you are the chosen school rep. :) Obviously, you can do whatever you want with this info, including ignore it but, knowing you, I don’t think you would do that. I know we can’t do anything to change the school curriculum and that is not our goal. The only goal I have in writing to you is to make you aware that many kids are getting phonics at home and that some kids are being left in the dust because they are not. I’ve written an article drawing on my experience with Younger Son called “How to help your child learn to read” that is posted on my web site www.GoodCityLiving.com. Many parents have found the article very helpful. It is posted in the “elementary school” section. When you have a chance, take a look at the reading article and let me know what you think and if it’s a web site link you may want to share with your current kindergarten parents. I’ve heard from other moms that lots of (kindergarten and first grade) parents could use this support and info too!

Other K and 1st grade teachers may find it useful to read because it shows the clues kids say when they need phonics (Younger Son said “I want to really read, not look at the pictures.); how the stick dot system affects them (It actually held Younger Son back. He would say things like, “I can’t read that! I’m only a blue stick dot”), along with other things. So feel free to let anyone you think may like it know about the article. Thanks!

Great news for future kindergartners at Younger Son’s elementary school.

(Jan. 23, 2007, Tuesday.) I learn that, beginning in September of 2007, Younger Son’s school is planning to supplement its Balanced Literacy curriculum in kindergarten with an excellent phonics program called “Fundations.” A few months later the principle—who officially became principal only this year—will explain to me that by combining Fundations with Balanced Literacy in kindergarten, the school will be using the best of various curriculum offerings.

That is the best news that the parent of any student can hear. This is the sign of a school, and a principal, that is open to positive growth and change. It is a sign that the school is paying attention to what the latest research on reading is finding. I am happy for all future kindergartners. I am happy for their parents too because their parents will not have to put forth the work and worry that I did when I realized I needed to teach my 6-year-old how to read because the Balanced Literacy curriculum was not doing so.

But I am also sad for my 6-year-old son. I am sorry that he did not get a systematic exposure to phonics in his classroom. I am sorry he is having to work so hard with me in order to catch up to his classmates, most of whom had been taught how to read by their parents or who had been given at least preliminary phonics instruction at home or in their preschools.

Balanced Literacy does teach phonics but it does it in short lessons that are not supported with any work sheets or books. For example, when kids learn the silent e rule they usually learn it in just one lesson. They do not practice changing words like “rat” into “rate” or “cap” into “cape.” Nor do they read any books that would systematically reinforce the concept of silent e. From the moment they are given books to read in school, they are given books full of words they cannot possibly read and are told to guess what those words are based on the picture on the page. This practice, by the way, is a warning sign of dyslexia yet this very same practice is encouraged in Balanced Literacy.

Once again I wonder how Joel Klein could have possibly thought it was a good idea to pay millions of dollars to Teachers College for a curriculum that does not have a systematic approach to phonics. Turns out, I am not the only one wondering this. Click on the links below to see what I mean.

For background information on how Whole Language-based reading curriculums like Balanced Literacy came to be, as well as on how constructivist math curriculums like TERC were hatched, see the chapter on “Getting the 3 R’s Right” in “The Schools Our Children Deserve: Moving Beyond Traditional Classrooms and Tougher Standards” by Alfie Kohn. He is a huge supporter of progressive education and Whole Language-based approaches to teaching reading. In all fairness, I feel I should direct you to what proponents of those methods believe. I can see their point about not needing to drill kids in phonics to the point of overkill but doing away with phonics to the extent that they have done seems like educational malpractice to me, especially since it ignores all the research out there about which methods are the most effective when it comes to teaching kids how to read.

“Whole-Language High Jinks: How to Tell When `Scientifically-Based Reading Instruction’ Isn’t,” by Louisa Moats, Ed.D. www.edexcellence.net/foundation/publication/publication.cfm?id=367

“Where the Mayor Went Wrong: Would you want to study at a Bloomberg school?” by Diane Ravitch. www.nychold.com/art-wsj-ravitch-050512.html

“Whole Language vs. Phonics” http://www.halcyon.org/wholelan.html

“Whole Language and Phonics: Can They Work Together?” www.education-world.com/a_curr/curr029.shtml

“Whole Language” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whole%20language

“Whole Language Reading Instruction” www.indiana.edu/~reading/ieo/bibs/whole.html

This Bush Education Reform Really Works” www.ednews.org/articles/7295/1/This-Bush-Education-Reform-Really-Works/

“I’m ready to blow my brains out,” says a fellow Nest+m mother

(Jan. 24, 2007, Wednesday of midterm week) I am at home, working at the dining room table. The only sound in the apartment is the hum of the refrigerator and the click of my computer keys as I strike them. I am totally engrossed in what I am writing when, suddenly, the phone rings.

It is the mother of one of Older Son’s classmates. I don’t know this woman and I don’t know her son either. (Middle school is very different from elementary school. Face-to-face contact with your child’s classmates, teachers and other parents is rare.)

She tells me her son, my son, and another boy I don’t know are working together on the upcoming science project.

Remember the science project? That is the one Older Son told me and Husband about last Friday. Older Son and his classmates are planning to make an egg cracker. The egg will roll down a ramp, knock over a row of dominoes, which will knock over something else, which will make a match strike itself against a coarse surface, which will make the match light up and get lowered down, which will then light a flame under a pan, which will then cook the egg, which will have been cracked by a hammer and dripped through a strainer into the pan.

“Their idea is very complicated,” the mother now says on the phone.

That is exactly what we told Older Son when he first told us of this plan last Friday.

Now, the mother asks me, “Have you looked at the rubric for the science project?”

If this was a movie, the soundtrack from Jaws would begin playing.

Trouble is clearly lurking on the horizon.

My heart begins beating faster.

Remember, as you read this story how important grades are to these kids. If they do not get good grades they will not get into a good high school. There are no longer any zoned neighborhood high schools in Manhattan and the competition to get into the good ones is fierce. Kids with 95 averages have been rejected by the good high schools. (The specialized high schools like Stuyvesant look only at the grade a child gets on a standardized entrance exam. All the others look at a child’s grades on his report card.) Getting a 95 average at NEST+m is next to impossible since the grading system is so harsh.

These kids don’t have the luxury of stretching and making a science experiment that will not work.

These kids don’t have the luxury of not being successful.

We parents don’t have the luxury of not being on top of everything they do, although I, at the moment, am guilty of exactly that.

“No,” I reply. I have not looked at the rubric. I have been too busy teaching Younger Son how to read to pay any attention to Older Son’s science project. Husband has been too busy helping Older Son study for midterms to pay any attention to the science project. Especially since Older Son had assured us that he and his group had the project under control. He had told us his group would meet and work on the project during school hours as well as after school. He never mentioned (and we never asked) when the due date was.

The Calling Mother now lets me know that the kids have not made any progress on the project whatsoever. “Take a look at the rubric,” she tells me. “What they need to do is quite detailed and it is due next Friday.”

“It’s due next Friday?” I squeak, referring to the project.

“Yes.” (Turns out the write up of what they are planning to create is due next Friday. The actual project is due the week after that but I am now operating under the assumption that the actual project is due next week.) “I’m calling to try to get the kids together this weekend to work on it at our house.”

This weekend.

Shit.

Just last night, Older Son had invited his best friend to sleep over at our country house this weekend. He is looking forward to it more than you can imagine. His best friend lives in New Jersey. Because of Older Son’s huge homework load, the kids don’t have a chance to get together very often.

Older Son is looking forward to seeing his best friend.

He is looking forward to playing.

To talking.

To hanging out.

To just being a kid.

To not doing any schoolwork.

My family is operating under the assumption that, since the kids have been studying non-stop all week, the teachers will let them have a break this weekend and won’t be assigning any homework. We will turn out to be wrong about this too but I am getting ahead of myself…

Now, this mother is saying the kids need to work on their science project this weekend.

Older Son may need to cancel the sleepover with his best friend.

Older Son’s heart will be broken if that happens.

I try to talk the mother into having the kids meet sometime after school the following week but the mother holds firm. This weekend is the only time that works for her family.

“I’m sorry it’s going to turn your weekend upside down,” she says.

“Our entire lives have been turned upside down by NEST,” I reply. I am referring to the grueling, unrelenting workload. Because of the huge amount of work, every weeknight as well as most weekends revolve around Older Son’s homework. We never even invite friends over for dinner on Saturday night anymore because we never know what test or project lurks the following week. It’s not that we need to be personally involved with Older Son doing his homework. We did in sixth grade as we taught him homework, note and test taking skills his elementary school never did but, this year, Older Son does his homework on his own. Our reason for not having people over is that we don’t want him to be distracted by other people in the house having fun while he is studying. Therefore, except for school vacations, and for this upcoming weekend, which we are mistakenly sure will be homework-free we generally make absolutely no social plans at all for ourselves or our kids. It is a very unhealthy way to live.

“Ours too,” she says, referring to having our lives turned upside down. “It’s insane. And I have another kid applying to colleges this year. I’m ready to blow my brains out.”

So, she wants to know, will Older Son come to her home at 3 o’clock on Sunday?

To get to his classmate’s home, we will need to leave the country at noon. Jamie will need to cut his sleepover very short, or it may not happen at all. He will be devastated either way. But the science project must be done.

“Okay,” I say to the mother.

I have no idea what I am going to say to my son when he gets home from school.

CLICK HERE FOR PART 3