When Abbey was learning to read in first grade, the schools were enamored with a reading method called whole language. Whole language instruction is based on the assumption that children learn language organically and holistically rather than in small, discrete chunks. When Abbey read aloud, we were not to correct words she misread as long as they made sense in the context of the story. When she wrote, it was okay for her to use "invented spelling," because it was considered to be more important at this stage for her to focus on meaning; the mechanics of spelling would come later.
We, and many other parents, thought this was a lot of nonsense. What about phonics? Were we going to raise a generation of illiterates? Of course, we forgot that those of us who learned to read in the Dick and Jane era were taught using the "whole word" or sight-reading method. I can recall studying phonics in second grade, but it was associated with spelling and writing, not reading. Phonics became a reading tool later. But somehow we had all gotten the idea that phonics was the traditional way to teach reading.
So I was happy to learn that Ella's special reading class relied on phonics. They used a program called Zoo-phonics. In Zoo-phonics, each letter of the alphabet is assigned an animal, and children learn phonics by making a motion and sound associated with that animal. Children practice these using flashcards in school and at home.
Engaging the children's kinesthetic sense sounds like a great idea; Chinese schools have long used music and movement as teaching aids. But I have to say that I came to hate Zoo-phonics. Some of the animal characters are obvious -- for A, the children hold their arms out in front like an alligator's jaws and say a short A sound: "A...a...a." Others are counterintuitive -- the N card is Nigel Nightowl, and he doesn't say, "Hoooo," he says "Nnnnn." Every time Ella saw that card she said "N is for Owl." It confused even me. And she spent far more time and effort remembering the names and motions associated with each animal -- "No, it's not Amy Alligator, it's Allie Alligator" -- than she did understanding the letters and the sounds they make.
I learned recently that Ella has a fantastic visual memory but has a very difficult time following spoken instructions. In fact, children who have difficulty in school are very often visual, right-brained learners who do poorly in the typical verbal, left-brained instruction system.
I've been haunted by the thought that when the kids who were behind in reading were pulled out of the classroom for special instruction in phonics, while the rest of the class used a modified whole-language and sight-reading method, they may actually have been dragged even further behind.
Ella and her classmate from the neighborhood didn't test out of the reading class by winter break. They didn't test out by the end of the year. In fact, Ella wasn't much closer to reading in June than she was the previous September.
But she sure could recognize phonemes and rhymes.
Reading wasn't Ella's only challenge in kindergarten. The teacher started to complain about her behavior. Now, I knew she was a wiggly kid. But I had helped out in the classroom, and while she may have been one of the more fidgety children, there were kids with far more obvious behavior problems. They shouted inappropriate questions while the teacher was speaking, they poked each other and picked fights in circle time, they rolled around on the ground when they were supposed to be sitting criss-cross-applesauce. Ella may have been on her best behavior when I was around, but I don't think she could have maintained such an act for long. It's not her way.
Every time I saw the teacher or met her for a conference, she rushed to tell me about Ella's misdeeds. There was little praise for her efforts. She referred Ella to the speech and language pathologist for testing because she thought her speech was immature. (She tested within normal limits.) We received a letter from the nurse because Ella's hearing tests showed a possible hearing loss, though the tester noted that she had a cold at the time. (A followup test at her doctor's office showed normal hearing.) We received a disciplinary note because Ella and another girl had been late returning to class from recess.
After a while, I decided that the teacher just didn't like Ella. She seemed to enjoy telling us how bad she was. The progress reports from the reading specialist raved about how hard Ella worked and what a pleasure it was to have her in class; the report cards from the teacher focused on how far behind she was and how much trouble she was giving her. If you compared the two reports, you wouldn't know they were talking about the same child.
This seemed odd, because Ella is a cheerful, enthusiastic child. Everyone she meets is a friend. So I couldn't help but think about whether race was involved. When you've considered all possible explanations and a situation still doesn't make sense, race is what you're left with. Why did she come to the teacher's attention when there were so many kids in class with behavior issues? Was it possible that she stood out because she didn't fit the stereotype of the studious, quiet Asian child? The other Chinese kid in class (who was not adopted) started kindergarten already reading. He did extra-credit work at home. Maybe if Ella had arrived at school carrying a violin case she would have been left alone.
I continued to struggle with defensiveness. At one conference I found myself sitting at a table with the teacher, reading specialist, and speech and language pathologist (at that point we were still discussing whether to evaluate her speech). I remember saying that while I was grateful for the extra support, I was reluctant to do much more because I did not want her to be labeled in any way or to have a handful of flags in her file. Already she was beginning to feel "set apart" from other students because she and a half-dozen other kids had to leave to classroom to meet with the reading specialist.
Ultimately, we agreed to continue with the testing and extra help. Again, I did not want to be seen as the defensive parent who couldn't see her child's failings. But at the same time I felt protective of my child and unsure that we were doing the right thing.
We moved to a different school district between Ella's kindergarten and first-grade years. We sent her to a summer-school program designed to help kids who are lagging catch up to first-grade reading level. She seemed to do well. In the back of my mind was the hope that the previous year was an anomaly and once the school year started we'd see that she had caught up. It would be great to get a fresh start.
And a month after school started we received a note saying that Ella had qualified for extra help in reading. And math. And occupational therapy. Plus her behavior was a concern. She continued to receive extra services throughout first grade and into second grade this year. She is making steady but not extraordinary progress, and she has not yet caught up to her grade level.
I am wracked with regret over Ella's rocky start in the educational system. I know now that she does have some information processing issues with an organic cause, most likely attributable to spending her first 12 months in an institution. The teachers weren't imagining her academic difficulties. But I still don't know if we, or the schools, did the right thing by her.
It's common for people, especially other moms, to say, "Follow your instincts. You're her mother -- you know what's best for your child." But do I? Do I really have an accurate view of child's abilities? Do I have the knowledge to make informed choices? I'm not a teacher, I'm not a therapist, I'm not a doctor. I've never taken a psychology class in my life. I haven't studied the pedagogical literature. I'm not even really sure what "pedagogical" really means.
But I have a pretty good store of common sense, and I can see when things aren't working. I'm constantly second-guessing our decisions. Should we have forced Ella to sit and read with us for an extra 10 minutes even when she wanted to go play? Should we have known enough not to allow her placement in a special reading class that pushed phonics instead of the sight-reading that suits her learning style better? If the school district had informed us about their true (yet apparently secret) academic expectations for kindergarten, could we have made different choices for her, such as holding her back a year and/or placing her in the Montessori kindergarten class that worked so well for Bess?
Ella loved preschool, but now she becomes dejected on Sunday nights and says, "I hate school." A couple of times she has referred to herself as stupid. Did all the testing, special classes, and letters home change her view of herself so that now she is programmed for failure? If she had been left alone to learn at her own pace, or given another year to mature, would she have caught up eventually?
I wonder about that last one a lot. I hear people say that kindergarten is the new first grade. First grade is more like second grade, and so on. Ella is about one year behind in academic skills; if she had gone to school with me, when academic expectations were not as high, she would have been right on schedule.
Why the big push to introduce academic skills in kindergarten? The pressure to perform doesn't just hurt the children who are "behind." It hurts all of them. Old-school kindergarten taught skills that children sorely need today. And it gave them time to mature and develop -- time I wish my little girl had been given.
More to come.
Recent Comments