Two years have passed since the start of a series of events that culminated in C. leaving school in the middle of 7th grade to homeschool. I’ve alluded to it. It’s been the elephant in the room. Well, I think I’m finally going to try to write about it. So here goes.
Our family and C. entered 6th grade with high hopes. She was coming off of two difficult years: 4th grade in a Center program, and a really awful 5th grade year in “normal” school. I was convinced that the main “issue” was a poor educational fit–namely lack of challenge and intellectual peers. During that 5th grade year some urged us to apply to private schools for middle school. But regardless of the path we chose (and we couldn’t afford private), we needed some answers to help us figure out what was going on with this child, how to go forward, how to navigate into middle school and beyond. So at the very end of 5th grade we took C. to Johns Hopkins Center for Talented Youth Diagnostic and Counseling Center for a two-day evaluation. The results came back mid-summer: not only was she “gifted,” she was “profoundly gifted” (a term, btw, that it took me a loooong time to come to terms with). It was immensely gratifying–finally–to “own” the data, and to have the opinion of neutral, highly respected outside experts. It was wonderful to feel supported, to be directed to additional resources.
We felt very optimistic about the coming school year. C. was entering one of our county’s vaunted magnet programs, the ones we had been hearing about since preschool. Finally, we thought, she’ll find a proper educational fit. She’ll have peers. The program even focused on her strength area.
To help things start off on the right foot we followed the suggestion of CTY and–before school even started–sent the CTY report to the magnet coordinator with a cover letter explaining what had led us to do the testing and expressing our optimism for the coming school year. When C. was accepted into the Davidson Young Scholars program, we passed that information on to the school. Also on CTY’s recommendation, we began seeing a counselor to help deal with the transition into middle school. C. and I went for several sessions through the fall, but by Christmas she decided didn’t want to go anymore and I agreed. Things were going very well. C. was happy. She had become friends with a nice group of girls. She got involved in drama–a wonderful outlet–and Girl Scouts. Her grades were excellent. I didn’t see the point.
The only “blip” was in February, when the mind-numbing prep started for the MSA. Like clockwork I started to hear the complaining, the “I don’t like school” statements, especially about English. C. found the test prep stupid and frustrating. (For my party, I wondered why these kids who had been tested to within an inch of their lives to get in and were clearly the best of the best, had to undergo any prep for this on-level state test.)
Vigilant because of our 5th grade experience, I sent an e-mail to the English teacher to “check in.” In her reply she said she was “surprised” by my e-mail. According to her, C. was doing well both academically and socially. A few days later I contacted the school counselor and shared my concerns with her as well, and asked if she could very casually check in with C.’s other teachers. The following month we spoke on the phone and exchanged e-mails. In the intervening weeks she had talked to teachers and done some casual observation. I wrote to her that I was “glad to hear that according to her teachers things seem to be fine with C. at school.” With each of these exchanges–the teacher and the counselor–I referenced the CTY report and suggested they follow up with the magnet coordinator, who had a copy.
I decribed it as a “good” year. “Any year that I don’t have to talk to the school,” I would say half in jest, “is a ‘good’ year.” (I would later modify that assessment somewhat. It turns out C. had spent countless hours throughout the school year researching boarding schools and private schools.)
So as C. entered 7th grade I envisioned smooth sailing, more of the same. Things were so good, in fact, that at the start of the school year I actually contemplated looking for a full-time job. Little did I know how quickly things could change.
It started with science class. In 6th grade, science had been–surprisingly–her favorite class, a testament to the teacher, who was inventive, engaging and charismatic. Seventh grade was different. Partially it was that this teacher simply wasn’t last year’s teacher…and the contrast was jarring. Partially it was the material, which according to C. was just more of the same. And partially it was the class itself. There were close to 35 students in the class. It was supposed to be GT but it wasn’t operating at that level, thanks to the push to advance marginal kids. Group work was an exercise in frustration. And C. was bored. She would do her work, which largely consisted of exercises from the book, and just sit. Or read.
The reading did her in. As bad luck would have it, on a single day she was reprimanded in English for reading when she wasn’t supposed to, and later the same day reprimanded in front of the class by the science teacher for “sneak reading.” The science teacher told C. that she had heard of her earlier infraction from the English teacher. That was that. C. was outraged that they were discussing her.
I took what I thought was an even approach. I talked about how we all have to adjust to new situations, new teachers, different ways of doing things. I counseled her to give it a chance. I wanted her to find a way to work it out. But the complaints persisted. Finally, I called the program coordinator, asking for some advice on how to approach the situation. Predictably, she suggested I wait and see and then talk to the teacher.
I guess I’m a wuss. I have always found it very difficult to talk to a teacher in these kinds of situations. As a parent, you are never operating from a position of strength. You are one step removed from the situation because you’re not in the classroom. You can’t possibly know what’s happening there. You just see the symptoms and of course you’re biased. Meanwhile the teacher is there, and what’s more, “the expert.” He/she is the adult. The child is the malleable object. So who has the power here? It would be the rare teacher who upon hearing “Hi, my daughter seems to be really unhappy in your class” would express sympathy and strive to see it from the child’s perspective, who would think that perhaps something he/she was/wasn’t doing could be the cause. No, the typical response is defensive, to say “Really? Well, X. does seem to have trouble with X. and that’s because he/she needs to X…. He/she needs to be more X….”
The discontent spread.
Two days after that call I sent the program coordinator an e-mail.
You may recall that I spoke with you the other day seeking advice about my daughter and her frustrations with science class. In general I try to let her work things out over time, because those things happen and are part of school and work life. But I just wanted to let you know that I just spent 10 minutes this morning in front of the school persuading my daughter to go inside. She didn’t want to go to school. Over the past few days she has been upset about her interactions with (two other teachers) and feels that they “don’t like me.” When her distress extends to not wanting to go to school, and multiple teachers, I begin to become concerned. Could you please let me know what advice you have for such a situation?
It was the third week of September.
Her reply was that if I didn’t think it was a temporary issue, I should contact the team leader and an arrange a “team meeting.” She and the school counselor would also be in attendance.
Two days later I reported that the feelings were intensifying and contacted the team leader to schedule a meeting in an effort to find ways to keep C. school positive. Two days after that I got a response. They could schedule an emergency meeting, but the coordinator would be absent due to a school function, or we could wait a week. I decided to hold off. C. wasn’t across the board school averse. There were other classes she loved. It was half her schedule, in other words every other day.
Things were building. Around this time she learned that she didn’t get a role in school play after two roles in 6th grade. She took it hard. Why? she asked again and again. The seeming randomness nagged her. For a few days she lost her all-important agenda and thus wasn’t able to produce a “pass” in order to meet with a teacher for a conference for her research paper. She did poorly on a quiz, was reprimanded for reading, felt condescended to. To an adult no one thing would seem to be very significant, but for a 7th grader, taken together and sprinkled with a few hormones, it congealed into a huge ball of badness. C. started calling me after school, tears in her voice, and asking me to pick her up from school, rather than ride the bus. There was also stress at home. Longtime renters, we were being forced to move, and I was having a very hard time coming to terms with the situation. Typical of highly gifted kids, of kids with those sensitivities and overexcitabilities, she absorbed my stress and sadness like a sponge…
(To be continued.)
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