You've probably heard that kindergarten is different from how you remember it. I want to share our most recent kindergarten experience in hopes that you'll be better prepared than we were. And also because I'm still a little angry and need to vent.
The change in kindergarten caught us by surprise. Ella was our first child in 11 years to attend kindergarten in conventional fashion. Abbey had attended all-day kindergarten, and except for a longer school day and greater emphasis on learning letter sounds, it wasn't much different from our kindergarten experience.
May attended school in China from kindergarten through the beginning of third grade, so we don't know what her early schooling was like.
Bess didn't attend standard kindergarten. She had one year of Montessori preschool and was then placed in the "transitional" class at the same school, which functioned as pre-K or kindergarten depending on the child's age and development. We assumed that she would spend a year there and then attend kindergarten at the public school. She turned 5 a few months after the public school's kindergarten cutoff, so the following year she would meet their age requirement.
Montessori is a "child-led" educational system, and the children in the transitional class were provided with reading workbooks that they completed at their own pace, with some in-class instruction. Bess got all the way through the reading program during the year. When I went to the kindergarten orientation at the public school, I could see that she was already even with or ahead of the kindergarten students -- not just in reading, but also in math, social skills, and physical ability. I knew that she would be bored in the kindergarten setting.
The district age policy had a loophole -- children who had completed an accredited kindergarten program could enter first grade despite their age, with the provision that the placement would be reviewed after two months' time. A and I discussed the situation at length and decided that it would be best to place Bess in first grade. One deciding factor was that we were afraid that if she were not challenged, she would slack off. She passed her probationary period and has continued to perform at the top of her class, social group, and sports teams.
Ella attended the same Montessori school. She started in the baby room and stayed through two years of preschool. She has a spring birthday, so we had decided to enroll her in the public school's all-day kindergarten the fall after she turned 5 rather than paying for private kindergarten.
She did well in preschool. She had never been a child who enjoyed sitting still and being read to, but we figured that would come with maturity. She was not a born student like Bess, but she was learning her letters and numbers according to the preschool's expectations, and she got good marks for behavior. Despite her small stature, she held her own on the playground. She was doing well enough for us to feel comfortable starting the process to adopt another child.
The spring Ella turned 5, I attended three separate kindergarten orientation sessions -- one at the district open house, one at the local school before Ella was registered, and one after she was registered. I read the brochures and flyers that were provided. I, like many parents, wanted to be sure my child met the district's expectations for kindergarten readiness. The brochure on school readiness said only that children should know their first and last names, be able to handle toileting on their own, and arrive at school well-rested and ready to learn.
Parents at one session asked about academic skills, and specifically whether children should be reading. The teacher said, "Some of the kids will be reading already" -- and here an audible gasp rose from the parents -- "and some will still be learning their ABCs. They will all be at different levels, and that's okay!" The tension in the room was palpable, but the teachers did their best to calm the parents down and assure them that each child would be able to progress at his or her level.
Ella started kindergarten. We diligently helped her with her math worksheets and filled in the reading log, reading to her (sometimes under protest) for 15 minutes each evening. I attended curriculum night, and on the walls were pictures the kids had made of trees on which they had written their letters, upper- and lowercase. Ella's wasn't the best picture or handwriting, but it was far from the worst. I felt reassured.
Then a month or two into the school year, she brought home an envelope containing a form letter. Testing had shown that she qualified for federally funded assistance in reading. She and the other children who qualified would be pulled out of class to work with a reading specialist.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. I thought there must be some mistake. She had done fine in preschool. The school had assured us that children could progress at their own level and that was "okay." Now they were telling me she was already behind?
I called the reading specialist. She said that Ella was deficient in "phoneme awareness," and her "rhyming recognition skills" were lacking. I told the specialist that I had attended three orientation sessions and not once had anyone said, "Be sure your child is well versed in phoneme awareness before sending her to school."
"Oh, it's not something you could prepare for," she told me. "She isn't really behind. It's just that studies have found that children who have trouble with phoneme and rhyme awareness at this stage tend to have have difficulties with reading later. So we identify them for intervention early on." Now, she happens to be a very nice person, but there was just a hint of condescension in her voice.
Um, okay, so because she might have trouble later, you're going to pull my child out of class for extra help. And you didn't feel the need to let parents know this was a possibility? You couldn't have provided a checklist so we could at least be prepared that this might happen?
I struggled with my emotions. I felt defensive -- how could I, an academic champ, have a child who was deficient in school skills? I felt tricked -- why did the school lull us into complacency, only to pull this on us without warning? I felt ashamed -- why hadn't I forced her to read with us more, instead of trying not to turn reading into an obligation?
To make matters worse, we were expected to sign an agreement setting forth our "responsibilities" in support of our child's education, promising to read to her every day, to get her to school on time and ready to learn, and to make sure her homework was completed every night. Because apparently her learning difficulties were all our fault, and obviously, despite having successfully raised two children, we didn't know that we were supposed to do these things. (Just a little bitter. Still.)
We had a choice. Ella would not be placed in the reading assistance program if we refused to sign the agreement. But I didn't want to be that parent -- the one who denies that her child has a problem. I didn't want the school to think that I wasn't doing everything possible to ensure my child's school success. And besides, it would be crazy to turn down extra help. Maybe she could even get a little ahead of the class in reading skills.
At the bus stop, I talked with another mother who had a daughter in the same kindergarten class. We delicately approached one another. "How is the year going?" "Okay...not great." It emerged that her daughter had also been tagged for extra help. She was as surprised as I was. She had a daughter Bess's age, so she wasn't a newbie either. Her daughter had also done fine at preschool. We both assumed that our daughters would get a little extra help until winter break, perhaps, and that would be it.
We were wrong.
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