I Can’t Retake a Summative.

This morning, Dylan’s algebra grades included two A’s, a Z (missing homework), and an E (failed test).  This averages out to a hefty D in the class.

Not bad for one week into the new quarter – and quite typical for a GT/LD kid.

So, since their school allows retakes, I asked him to retake the test after school.

“I can’t retake a summative!” Dylan wailed.  “She told me that last time!”

There are summatives and formatives.  Both mean TEST but I have no idea of the difference.  So I printed out his grades and wrote a note to his teacher:  “Please allow Dylan to retake the summative so that we know if he understands the material,” it said.  “It doesn’t matter if it changes his grade.”

I handed him the paper.  God only knows where he put it.  He is supposed to meet with her after school.  I sent her an email, so she can expect him.  And also so she can tell me if he doesn’t show up.  The last three times he was supposed to retake a test, he didn’t show up.

“I forgot,” he said.

Yesterday was a half-day of school.  At lunchtime, he was supposed to retake his chorus test (which he missed last week because we went out of town).  We talked about it, discussed the timing in great detail.  In the afternoon, I asked him how it went.

“Oh, I didn’t take it today,” he said.  “It was a half-day.”

“I know it was a half-day,” I said.  “But the teacher was expecting you at lunchtime.”

“Well I didn’t think I could take a test if it was a half-day,” he countered.

There was some yelling.  I am not doing well with not yelling.

I went on and on about how Dylan didn’t show up last week for the basketball team meeting, even though he’s wanted to try out for basketball since he was 10.  Try-outs were finally coming, and he missed the meeting because he didn’t know it was happening.  This, after two weeks of coaching from me, and a reminder for several days beforehand – and the day of the meeting.  The meeting also allowed some time to play basketball, so I got Dylan some new gym clothes, so he would stand out in try-outs.  We talked about that, too.

“Oh,” he said when I didn’t see him coming out of the gym, “I thought it was next week.”

So when he also didn’t retake the chorus test at lunchtime, I completely lost it.

I called my husband, who has a touch of the ADHD himself.

“I can walk into the kitchen for a glass of water,” said Bill, “and end up fixing the car.  I’m not sure this is the time to bring down the hammer on Dylan.”

He was right, of course.  I knew I married him for some reason.  He adds balance to my insanity.

So we have decided that notes in the lunchbox will be very helpful.  “GO TO CHORUS,” says today’s note.  And then after school, he is supposed to go to algebra.

We’ll see what he actually does.

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