Thursday, September 27, 2012

Awesome

A lot of people have asked me how Jack is doing in his new school. I’m going to let him tell you.
We ran into Jack’s second grade teacher (and my friend) this afternoon after school. She asked him how school was. His response? An enthusiastic, “Awesome!”

Jack adored his teachers last year, but the work was really stressful for him. He told his therapist that school was “like a crash on the head”—or a bonk or something similar. I don’t think it really matters what sort of collision with his head he specified. It wasn’t good. Before school started this year, he told us that he was worried. He was worried that the work would be too hard. I was worried that he would be miserable, like he was last year. His reaction to school last year is the reason he has a therapist now.

He is in a class with a total of six kids and he is mainstreamed for a lot of the day. But the part of school that he has the hardest part with—reading, writing, inferences—that gets taken care of in his small classroom. He has kids he likes in the class. One of those kids lives only a few blocks away from us. His teacher is nice. His homework load isn’t too heavy. His bus schedule has worked out.

He thinks school is awesome.

He is happy.

Now, one of the things Jack’s prior school was really good at was pushing him academically, probably farther than I would have done on my own, and for the most part, it was good for him. I have to make sure that he remains challenged, because Jack has an awesome brain that needs to be engaged. Based on what I’ve seen, the teacher will likely be good at making sure he gets challenged the way he needs to be.

But, honestly, at this point, I don’t care. All I care about between now and parent-teacher conferences in November is that he is happy. That is my total goal. I want him to learn that school can be fun—or at least not like a head injury.

I think that might be happening.

Jack has been reading more lately. He’s read all of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books a zillion times. This morning, Jack asked me to get him a notebook he could use as a diary, so I found one and had it waiting for him when he got home. During homework time, he ignored the math worksheet I kept trying to put in front of him and instead he started writing in his new diary.

He told me to pretend to drink my can of soda and look over the top of my computer at him. Which I did, in between sneaking photos of him.

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He kept looking up to take note of what I looked like.
Do you know what was happening here? Last year, two or three times a week, Jack was supposed to read a book for a half hour and then write in a reading response journal. It was a nightmare. Forcing him to write something relevant and coherent after I’d forced him to read? It didn’t go well. At a certain point, I just stopped making him do it.

This year, Jack’s teacher asked if I wanted him to have to do a reading response, to which I vehemently shook my head no.

But look at that. That is a reading response. On his own terms. And, frankly, it is better than any of the paragraph-format reading responses he wrote last year. See?

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He told me I could look. I asked first, I promise. It is a diary after all.

I’m aware that this notebook probably won’t end up filled with a daily record of Jack’s life. But the way he merged his real life with what he was doing and with the bar graphs on his math worksheet and my soda and my tank top and, holy shit, that awesome picture of Alex?

I love that he could do that and that he wanted to do that.

At least for now, I feel that Jack is in the right place. He is happy. He is learning on his own terms.

And that is awesome.

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