In 1994, my son Nicholas failed first grade. Every day I saw signs of stress — his fingernails were bitten to the quick — and every day I knew that the school day meant more unforgettable pain.
On occasion, his teacher spoke with me. Her words were never comforting.
“He stares into space all the time,” she complained. “And he struggles to do the most basic tasks.”
What she didn’t mention was his total isolation in and out of the classroom, which took me years to figure out. At the end of the year, I requested testing and the results were devastating. Nicholas had a low IQ, could only read 10 words (including “on” and “no” reversals), and displayed no areas of strength.
While I was contemplating homeschooling, an opportunity arose that enabled me to remove Nicholas from school for six months so I could work with him one-on-one. Beginning with a series of decoding books and limited knowledge, I set about implementing the curriculum. But I was no more successful than his first-grade teacher.
“Nicholas has no memory for words, letters, or sounds!” I told my mother-in-law.
Her response offered invaluable advice:
“Lois,” she said, “put away what is not working and make learning
fun.”
Her words pushed me to ditch those worthless strategies from a book and reimagine possibilities.
I contemplated what Nicholas was already good at. I knew he could do two things: rhyme words and see patterns. Having a blank slate and using this simple knowledge with few resources, I began writing original poems just for Nicholas.
The poetry immediately transformed our work together. No longer did I expect Nicholas to read anything, as I read the poem to him aloud. We laughed as we recited the poems again and again, searching for meaning, finding rhyming words, and eventually exploring the ideas within the poetry. I wrote more poems, and over time Nicholas expanded his knowledge of language, each poem supporting his ability to make essential connections.
[perfectpullquote align=”left” bordertop=”false” cite=”” link=”” color=”” class=”” size=””]”Put away what is not working and make learning
fun.”[/perfectpullquote]
As Nicholas’ language skills progressed, a friend shared a book series with me — Mary Atkinson’s
Hear It, See It, Do It — and it became my bible in helping him learn to decode words. The lessons from Atkinson’s book began to align with my original poetry. Tackling “oo” sounds in words like “cook,” “look,” and “book” inspired “A Gap in the Map,” which told the story of Captain Cook, the last of the great historical explorers. In addition to discussing the poem, Nicholas looked over a map published in the 1550s, which caused an enormous change in him. He asked questions I will never forget.
“Who came before Captain Cook?” he asked innocently.
“Oh, that’s easy,” I replied, “that was Christopher Columbus.”
“And who came
before Christopher Columbus?” Nicholas shot back.
I was stumped. I had never thought to ask who came before Columbus.
This same boy who had struggled to recall letters and sounds was showing curiosity and high-level thinking skills.
Driven by Nicholas’ fresh enthusiasm for learning, we continued to explore the evolving maps of the world, taking on projects that were not typical for a seven-year-old but suited Nicholas perfectly.
After those six months, Nicholas apprehensively returned to school.
It wasn’t too long before I met with the school diagnostician who had completed the testing one year earlier. I was delighted to tell her about Nicholas’ inquisitiveness and what he learned.
“Well,” she replied dismissively. “He’s the
worst child I’ve seen in 20 years of teaching.”
Feeling defeated and deflated, I fled from her room.
But those 11 words from the school diagnostician changed my life. These words caused me to realize the harm in expecting Nicholas to learn like everyone else. We needed to change the way we see students, change the way we teach. Over the previous six months, I had discovered things about Nicholas and his learning process.
[perfectpullquote align=”right” bordertop=”false” cite=”” link=”” color=”” class=”” size=””]This same boy who had struggled to recall letters and sounds was showing curiosity and high-level thinking skills.[/perfectpullquote]
Nicholas stayed in school, but we worked a lot together at home to ensure he always comprehended and recalled all he needed. I also kept in contact with his classroom teachers. With all the work of the previous six months, and now learning both in school and at home, he was learning to read independently.
Very early one morning in 1996, I heard a small voice coming from our sitting room. It surprised me, as it sounded like a fluent voice — not a conversation, but the sound of reading.
I quietly tiptoed out of bed and down the hallway, before poking my head into the sitting room.
That’s when I saw Nicholas, sitting cross-legged, dressed for school, and reading a book. Tears ran down my face as I watched him achieve something that once appeared impossible.
Over the next months and years in school, Nicholas improved his reading and gained confidence. He had some incredible classroom teachers who found his strengths and fed his love of learning, allowing him to take his place alongside his peers.
Nicholas went on to accomplish more and more. In 2007, he won the Exceptional Children’s “Yes, I Can” award for academics. In the same year, he graduated in the top 20 percent of his class at Lubbock High School in Texas. He went on to complete two undergraduate degrees, one in engineering and one in applied mathematics.
And in May 2018, he earned his doctorate in applied mathematics from Oxford University.
Not too bad for “the worst child” that school diagnostician had seen in 20 years.
