The Past Seven Months

 There’s been a lot that I haven’t been telling you this year. I didn’t feel it wise to do so, given that it involved Ant, and I didn’t want him suffering any further ramifications in his classroom. I am fairly certain that school personnel read my blog.

Now that school is out, it feels as if a massive weight has been lifted from us, and I’m just now beginning to realize how much the poor choices of one adult in my child’s life has impacted all of us. Even K feels it. He has made it his personal mission this summer to keep Ant entertained and busy and enjoying the time off. What 15 year old do you know has dedicated his twelve weeks of summer to his little brother?

 

I don’t think Ant will ever be the same again. My second son had inherited his flair for storytelling from me, and his ability to quip of one liners from J. You could expect at least one a day, before third grade. He reveled in making us laugh our butts off. He is an entertainer, and a purveyor of words—and a practitioner of the oral tradition. Now we’re lucky if we get one every couple of weeks. This is how miserable my child has been. It makes me so sad, so angry, and tired. Yes, I’m tired. I am tired of fighting for my child, with school administrators and officials. I am tired even of recounting the story of Ant’s third grade year, because there is just so damn much to tell.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s not all about the school. In the past year my hometown was blown away. We lost two family members. All but one of J and I’s surviving grandparents have spent time in the hospital. Ant had a classmate die this spring. It was a bad year. It wasn’t all about school, and yet… my child exhibited symptoms of illness and stomach troubles every Monday morning, just like children who are bullied do. Except the bully wasn’t a classmate. The bully was his teacher.

I could easily write ten blog posts that just recount the bullet points of official complaints and grievances that I’ve sent to the school district in the past seven months. I don’t even know how many blog posts it would take to recount the meetings. I have a notebook full of notes. To their credit, they have taken my complaints seriously, and state that they’ve acted on the problems addressed. They apologize for the fact that they cannot tell me more particulars on how things are being addressed, because it would be a violation of privacy.

Still, in a time when we needed a strong support system in the school and a safe haven where Ant could escape from the world (and learn), he had a teacher who didn’t understand why my child was weepy and had meltdowns. Ant continuously reported that this person was mean to him, and the proof is there—I’ve spoken with other parents. Their children noticed it. He openly admitted in meetings that he found my child “annoying and socially immature”, that he removed him from activities with other children, that he didn’t allow him to play on the playground equipment or sit with his peers at lunch. He felt as if Ant demanded too much time and attention, and he wasn’t willing to cave to my child’s “adult-attention seeking behaviors.”

He also didn’t teach him to grade level. Whenever the principal of the school would specifically ask him to come up with ways to get Ant motivated and back on track, he would point blank tell the principal that he had no suggestions or “strategies in mind”. My son lagged behind for the first time in his schooling. We took up the cause at home, attempting to keep him on grade level with “school at home”, balancing that with physical exercise and all the rest. My son’s grades continued to demonstrate that he was failing reading and writing. In the last meeting, it was determined that Ant had not even been assessed for three months. Our work for his improvement wasn’t even being documented. I continued to receive nasty notes (when I did receive notes—I was supposed to receive updates every day).

Another reason for my exhaustion.

Two days ago, I opened Ant’s report card with non-committal trepidation. I figured it would be less than what I hoped for, but I was also beyond the point of caring. I know what my child can do. I know what I have taught him this year. I was surprised to see that he had all passing grades. Miraculously. Overnight. Oh, his reading and writing on right on track, somehow.

I was pissed-- it was a copout. I’ve seen elementary teachers manipulate grades before to show how much a child has improved throughout the course of a year, but seriously? As late as two weeks ago I was getting nasty notes home about how poorly my child does.

That wasn’t the kicker. The comments on the trimester are what really threw me for a loop. I am quoting them here, so that you can see:

“His ability has never been an issue. He is very bright and capable. With continued focus upon effort, his work quality will continue to improve.”

And this is where I speak directly back to the person who wrote this—You’re right. My child’s ability was never called into question in our minds. Your’s was. My child IS bright and capable. He understood how you treated him differently much sooner than we did. He knew the way the classroom was conducted was inappropriate. He knew when to speak up. He knew that no matter what he did, it wouldn’t matter to you, because your notions about him were preconceived. And my child has demonstrated massive effort and focus. We made it through a hellacious year, both in school and out of it. It was always your ability, your effort, and capability that was called into question.

But, I am letting this go. Today, right now, I am letting this go. First, I have other things to worry about. Also, I do not want Ant to stew on it any further, so this means that I must lead by example. Plus, my child has told me that it is time to let it go.

Ant came home with a yearbook filled with classmates’ signatures. As he proudly showed them off, linking the names with their pictures, he turned to me and told me that he refused to let his teacher sign his yearbook. My nine year old child stood up to the person who wreaked havoc on our lives, and said no. Enough. Ant told me that he was done remembering what had occurred in third grade. That he was going to look forward to summer and fourth grade.

While I mourn the loss of my child’s innocence and inherent trust in adults, in that one moment, I caught a brief glimpse of the man he will become. I like that man—he makes me proud. If there was one thing to come out of the year from hell, I hope that it is this man-- strong, compassionate, wise—this man that Ant will become.