Dylan has been really trying lately. He has taken it upon himself to get straight A’s. In doing so, he has learned some interesting things.
- There’s so much work. Even when there was work yesterday, new work appears again today!
- If one paper isn’t even finished, the teacher hands out another paper anyway! And sometimes they’re both due at the end of class!
- It’s very challenging to attempt to keep pace with a world that moves substantially faster than one’s own brain.
Dylan has ADHD. I’m not sure he realized that before these past two weeks.
He spends every day desperately trying to finish things that the other kids finish in half the time. He spends all his post-class time talking to teachers, meeting with teachers, and arranging times to finish what’s not-yet done. He stays after school almost every day – and missed most of (and all of) his Ultimate Frisbee team practice this week.
He races downstairs in the morning, mostly dressed, and finishes putting on his shoes while he scarfs down whatever is on his breakfast plate. Then he wraps up his breakfast and runs after the bus, which has usually just gone by. (He has to run about a quarter-mile to catch it.)
He texts me several times a day. “Mom, I’m going to do _____ at lunch and then I have to do ____ after school.”
Later it might be, “Mom, I did this thing, but I didn’t do it the right way. Do I have to do it again?”
“Only if you want credit,” I text back.
Days are looooooong for Dylan. He’s trying hard. He’s taking his Focus Factor and his L-Tyrosine. He’s eating a high-protein breakfast. And he drinks a latte or an espresso at least once a day, plus iced tea at lunchtime. Caffeine really seems to help him – although he still says his best day was after drinking one of those God-awful energy drinks.
But all those things are still not quite enough.
Dylan can’t focus in class. His teachers talk about him staring into space – the telltale sign that he’s giving it all he’s got, but just can’t jump-start his brain.
So we’re going to try something new.
I can’t believe I never thought of it before. I mean, I’ve been thinking for eight years about what to do for Dylan. And today, I suddenly thought of something new.
He’s going to take a caffeine pill.
Side effects are minimal. There’s nothing in the pill, except caffeine. Each pill is the equivalent of two cups of coffee. And while coffee works pretty well for Dylan, two cups are a lot – and it’s hard to drink that much during (or between) classes in high school.
So… Caffeine pills are acquired. We’re ready to launch.
The world is still upset by the results of last week’s election. Earlier this week, there were protests against our new President Elect. At least one of these protests happened at a local high school, where so many kids walked out of school to protest that the police had to close down the streets nearby.
While I am interested in the protests because it means that we, as a country, are able to stand up for what we believe, I remember only too well my own high school protest “walk-out” – which, looking back, seems rather pointless. I like the whole “safety pin” approach.
I am one for peace.
Unfortunately, today was a bad day in our area. Some “peaceful” Trump protesters – high school kids – didn’t understand the concept. Today they saw a 15-year-old boy wearing a Trump hat, so they jumped him and beat the heck out of him. They were lucky: the Trump supporter is going to be okay.
As I see it, this is humanity at its absolute lowest, and it makes me want to endlessly wretch. The kid wasn’t even old enough to vote! And to do this in the name of … Love?
Then I got an email from Dylan’s principal – from a high school where there had not been any protests. Or so I thought:
Dear Parents and Guardians:
As your principal, I am committed to providing each of our students with a safe and welcoming learning environment.
As of this afternoon, there have not been any organized protests involving our students on or off campus during school hours. It has been a regular school day. I am aware that a very small number of students left campus today but they did not protest at or near our school. Some returned before the end of the day to return to class. We are following up with the students and parents appropriately. I am working closely with central office, other high school principals and the police to monitor and continue to ensure a safe educational environment for all Rockville High School students.
To help us ensure that our school remains safe and welcoming for all, we are asking for help from students. If your child sees or hears about vandalism, offensive messages, or other forms of harassment, they should immediately report the incident to my office.
Additionally, if your child believes they are a victim of bullying, harassment, or intimidation of any kind, they should report the incident or incidents to a trusted staff member and to you as the parent/guardian, and a staff member can help them complete and submit the Bullying, Harassment, or Intimidation Reporting Form. [We] will not tolerate hate-based speech or behavior in our school communities.
I noticed that this email, rather than providing reassurance, actually gave me cause for concern. It wasn’t the kids walking out of school, or the possibility of vandalism that worried me. It was that the entire support system – which “will not tolerate hate” – gives us only one option to deal with offending behaviors.
We should fill out a form.
If we have any real issues – if something happens that is life-threatening – we are supposed to fill out the Bullying, Harassment or Intimidation Reporting Form.
Then what happens? I mean, really? How on earth is this going to help?
I realize they are trying hard. And to be honest, I can’t think of anything better to solve the problems of bullying, harassment or intimidation.
But I find it sad that still, in this day and age, we are still only able to report the incident, and hope something changes.
God, I hope something changes.
Many people don’t “believe in” vision processing disorder. It’s a relatively new “disorder” and it’s easier just to say, “It’s like dyslexia” as explanation.
But it’s not dyslexia. It’s treatable. And we treated Shane – at great financial and emotional cost – for many years.
So when, in the past six months or so, Shane started reading words aloud (again) that didn’t make any sense, I was mildly concerned. He seemed to be flipping syllables. When he got a lower-than-expected score on his PARCC test last spring – only in reading – it added to my concern. And when I realized Shane had “forgotten” his multiplication tables and couldn’t remember how to multiply fractions or use negative numbers in equations, I worried a little bit more.
Then I noticed that Shane had also started reading comics again – something he did before he learned to read, because he could guess the words easier with assistance from the pictures. And he started listening to talking CDs instead of reading books during his nightly reading time.
Then, last week, Shane came home from school after the MAP-R, another standardized reading assessment.
He said, “I didn’t make my goal,” and I started to freak out a little.
“What do you mean?” I asked with all the calm I could muster.
Shane said, “The goals ranged from 239 to 249 and I only got a 232. I didn’t even meet the minimum goal.” This low test score was – again – in the one subject most affected by a vision processing disorder: reading. Shane said he did fine on the MAP-M, which is the equivalent test for math. But I didn’t stop thinking about his reading score.
Two days later, I was still thinking about it.
No one knows about vision processing disorder, I thought. Treatment is practically still in the experimental stages.
And: How do we know whether or not he will regress?
So I wrote down my thoughts for the special education coordinator at his school. I explained all of my fears – the CDs, the comics, the math, the PARCC test, the possibility of regression, the flipping of words when he reads aloud. And I asked if we could see the MAP-R, to see what he’d done incorrectly, to gauge whether or not he was struggling again.
In response, she wrote the following:
I am uncertain why your son Shane felt he did not meet his goal for MAPR. His most recent score was a 232, which is in the 87th percentile, and well above what the cut score was for 7th grade. His MAPM was a 241, also in the 87th percentile. I don’t think you have anything to be concerned about!
And yet, here I sit – still concerned.
Yes, he’s smart. I am fine – even happy – with how well he did on his test. But I don’t only care that he is in the 87th percentile. I care that he didn’t meet the minimum number in the one test that evaluates reading. I care that his eyes might not be working with his brain again. I care that he might be slipping – might need help – might need more than just intelligence to get what he needs in school – and in life.
I care that he cares, and if he needs help again, I want to get it for him.
I don’t recognize the boy who came home from high school yesterday. I mean, he LOOKS like Dylan, but he sure isn’t acting like Dylan.
Every day this week, he’s come home and put his stuff away. He hasn’t whined or complained or rolled on the floor moaning about his long day. THAT is the Dylan I remember.
In fact, and instead, he has come home every day this week with a new resolve: DO WELL IN SCHOOL.
Yesterday after school, I picked him up from frisbee practice. On the way home – totally unprovoked – Dylan said, “I’m going to spend lunch with my Spanish teacher tomorrow. And I’m going to stay after school working on Government, if that’s okay with you.”
“You’re staying after school on a Friday?” I asked, a bit stunned.
“Yeah, if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” I said. “Just let me know when you’re done and I’ll come and get you.”
Then we got home. He took a few minutes to text his friends or whatever. Then he said, “When’s dinner?”
“About half an hour,” I said.
“All right,” Dylan said. He was standing in the doorway with his binder. “I’m just going to do the stuff I have to do now, and study after dinner.”
“Study what?”
“My Spanish test!” he exclaimed, as if I had a clue. Then he galloped upstairs and … well, he actually did his work.
For years, I have been asking him the same question: “Do you have any homework?”
And for years, I have been getting the same answer: “I don’t really have anything to do tonight.”
This week, I haven’t said anything about homework. Except last night, I said this: “I’m so proud of you, Dylan.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re working so hard on your school work! You are really giving it a solid effort – and you should be really proud of yourself!”
He seemed surprised. “Well I have a reason now,” he said.
“A reason for what?”
“A reason to do this stuff.”
“What’s your reason?” I asked, genuinely interested – and a bit afraid.
“I always wanted to just do music,” he said. “But now I want to do good in school, too.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “Well, you’re doing a great job. I’m really impressed.”
And then I left him alone to finish putting away his laundry, which I hadn’t even asked him to do.
This morning, Dylan bounded down the stairs and said, “Don’t you just feel like jumping out of a window?”
I appreciated that he didn’t say, Don’t you feel like crawling into a hole for the next four years?
“I don’t think it would do any good,” I said. “And it’s raining outside.”
Dylan started talking about moving to Canada. After all, since it never occurred to me that Donald Trump would actually win this election, I said we could move to Canada if Trump became President.
But what good would that do? We’d still be Americans. We’d still be humiliated in the face of the world. We’d still be the laughing stock of the planet. And we’d still find out about every absurd syllable that Trump utters, no matter how senseless.
It astounds me, as a human being with a brain, that so many millions of people could vote for someone whose entire campaign is based on bitterness, lies and fear. Millions of people believed his empty promises backed by no solid plan. Millions of people voted to have a buffoon be in charge of our country.
Millions of people based their decisions on fear. They’re worried about terrorism (thanks to the media) so they vote for someone who says, “Keep everybody out!” They’re worried about losing their jobs (thanks to the media) so they vote for someone who says, “We’ll force all the companies to stay in this country!” They’re worried about the country falling apart (thanks to the media) so they vote for someone who says, “I don’t know anything about politics so I will make it better!”
They’re worried (thanks to the media) about the national debt, so they vote for someone who doesn’t even pay the people who work for him. They’re worried (thanks to the media) about their families growing up in a safe place, so they vote for someone who is angry and unkind.
In fact, thanks to fear (and the media), every single vote for Trump was a vote against the Golden Rule.
But no one really cares about the Golden Rule anymore.
And as a mom of two very bright kids, I have to explain this to my children, who have followed the campaign for a year. My kids know the difference between right and wrong so they have been very concerned since Trump was nominated.
Dylan’s friend voted yesterday and texted about it. Dylan carefully said, “I hope you made a good choice.”
“Of course I did,” said his friend. “I’m not a stupid, racist pig. I voted for Hillary.”
We all breathed a little sigh of relief.
But the world has stopped turning for me today.
I am stunned at the number of votes for ignorance, racism, sexism and intolerance. I am stunned that so many people simply decided that someone so obscene should be “in charge.” I am stunned that so many people can support a man with no plan for the foreseeable future except to tear down everything we’ve built over the last 200 years.
I’m not saying the world is perfect. I’m just saying that Trump’s methods are guaranteed to make it worse. We are facing a Very. Long. Four. Years.
MORE votes were actually cast for Hillary, which means a majority of people actually voted against the idiocy.
This gives me only a smidgeon of hope.
“So why didn’t she win?” Shane asked. He’s already learned about electoral voting in school.
I had to explain the sad truth: “Because that’s just the way it works, Son.”
Dylan and I have been gone for four days – yet another college road tour – and just got back. I missed my Monday blog because I forgot that it was Monday.
Now I beg your forgiveness that I must, along with the rest of the country, go and sit in front of the TV on Election Night, in a panic that our country is at death’s door.
More later, I’m sure.
As a substitute for a first grade class this week, one of my assignments was to read, Duck for President.
Perhaps it’s not been all that noticeable, but this year is a Presidential election.
So my assignment was to talk a little about the upcoming election – without asserting any opinions – and then read the book, and talk about the things Duck did when he was running for President.
Duck for President is a very simplistic view of what happens. There’s some campaigning, but no mention of what that means, and Duck rides in some parades and kisses some babies. Otherwise, Duck doesn’t do much – although he still gets elected. At the end, he quits because it’s too much work, and goes back to the farm from whence he came.
So I pulled out the book and sat on my rocker in front of 18 first graders, who were seated on the carpet in front of me.
“Raise your hand,” I said, “if you have ever heard the name, ‘Hillary Clinton.'”
Every hand in the room went up.
“She’s running for President!” one girl blurted.
“She is indeed,” I said. “Okay, now raise your hand,” I said. “if you have ever heard the name, ‘Donald Trump.'”
Again, every hand went up. But this time, the room exploded. There was an uproar of little voices.
“He’s going to be President,” a boy said.
“Nuh-uh,” said another one. “He’s a jerk!”
“He’s not a jerk!”
“Uh-huh he is, because I saw him. He said some bad stuff and he’s really a jerk!”
“He doesn’t like people with black skin,” whispered a girl.
“Who has black skin?” said another one.
“You do!” the first girl said. “And me too!” Both girls had dark hair, but their skin wasn’t very dark.
“Donald Trump doesn’t like people with black skin and he doesn’t like people who speak Spanish,” said another girl.
At least eight of the kids in the room spoke Spanish.
There was a collective gasp.
This all happened in the course of twelve seconds. As a teacher, I had to say nothing about either candidate, remain impartial, and let the kids know the really good news.
“Who knows how old you have to be to vote?” I yelled above the din.
The class hushed. One lone boy raised his hand practically to the ceiling. “18!” he almost screamed.
“That’s right,” I said. “And the Presidential election happens every four years, so you will be able to vote in just three more elections!”
The class was very excited. “We can?” one girl squealed, while a boy yelled, “We can vote when we are 18!”
They took a moment to stop arguing, and to recognize their personal power.
Because really, that’s what an election is all about.
“And this,” I said, waving the book, “is a story about a duck who wants to be President.” And I started reading.
But as I read, the words of a classroom full of six-year-olds echoed in my ears.
They sounded just like all the adults in the country.
Recently, there’s been some controversy on a local email list about an article that appeared in The Washington Post.
The article discusses the impact that teacher absences and long-term substitutes have on students’ education. The headline reads: 1 in 4 U.S. teachers are chronically absent, missing more than 10 days of school.
While I decided to steer clear of jumping into the middle of the online discussion, I have been thinking about what’s been said.
Teachers, who already have little-to-no life outside of work, are upset because parents assume that they are all taking off of work to party. As a substitute teacher myself, I know that there are very few teachers who leave the classroom for reasons other than work-related issues – meetings and trainings and the like.
I know a lot of teachers. Maybe there are slackers in the bunch, but for the most part, our teachers are the hardest working people I have ever met. (Spend ONE DAY substitute teaching and see if you can decide anything else.)
However, I also found one teacher who disappeared for a week-long vacation without leaving so much as a lesson plan for her substitutes – and instead claimed that she was “sick” for a week.
That is probably who the article is about.
Still, the parents have good points: substitute teachers are not really substitutes for permanent teachers. They are stand-ins, for the most part, who can do their very best to keep the class on task and covering curriculum. But parents are concerned that the substitutes – many of whom are not even certified teachers – aren’t able to teach the curriculum, and/or aren’t able to actually educate the class.
I was watching a Dr. Phil rerun the other day. A homeschooling parent said, “Saying children are learning in school is like throwing marshmallows at their heads and saying you’re feeding them.”
I like it.
I don’t agree – but I understand. Teaching isn’t something that can be done by just anyone. Really teaching needs to have strong, personal investment by an adult who is willing to really teach.
Many teachers lecture, discipline, babysit and distribute worksheets – then grade those worksheets and call it “teaching.” That kind of teaching is, indeed, like throwing marshmallows at their heads. There’s far, far too much of this kind of behavior in the public schools.
But there are many teachers who give their heart and soul to the job, and create a learning environment where kids can actually thrive. These are the teachers who spend days planning their assignments, perfecting their lessons based on what happens in class, talking to kids every day about their needs, talking to parents and other staff, and figuring out how to make sure every student in the class can succeed.
Those are the teachers everyone loves.
Those are also the teachers who never take off any time for themselves, who barely take a moment to notice their own birthdays, and who love their students almost as much as they love their own kids.
Everyone wants those teachers.
I won’t go on a rant about how and why so few of those teachers exist. I just want to note that those teachers do exist. And they deserve way more credit than anyone will ever give them.
Meanwhile, I’m just happy that sometimes they go to meetings and allow me the privilege of seeing what a good classroom is all about. As a substitute, I benefit enormously from those teachers.
And I strive to be like those teachers, so that, even as a substitute, I can be the best kind of teacher, too.
Dylan’s job (scaring people) runs late. It runs later on weekends, but it still runs late on weeknights.
Dylan has said, many times, that he can work late and still get up on school days. And for the first few weeks, he did it – quite nicely, in fact.
But one Monday morning, after four solid nights of work, there was no movement in his room.
I went downstairs and made his breakfast anyway. I still heard nothing from upstairs. Then I heard Shane’s alarm. I heard Shane getting ready for school.
I still heard nothing from Dylan’s room. Normally, Dylan is expected downstairs by 6:45. It was 6:50 and the bus arrives at 7:00.
I made Dylan’s lunch anyway. I made Shane’s lunch. I left Dylan’s egg sandwich in the microwave, just in case.
At 6:57, I heard feet racing down the stairs. I assumed it was Shane.
It was Dylan.
He grabbed his lunchbox and threw on his shoes and a jacket. Meanwhile, I nuked his sandwich and threw it into a piece of foil. I handed him a water bottle and an Espresso.
“You didn’t take your vitamins!” I said.
“I have them in my backpack,” he said.
Right, I thought. But he sent me a picture of those vitamins … while he was on the bus.
Which – unbelievably – he caught, and he made it to school on time.
Tonight is Dylan’s last night to work this season.
Thank you, God.
Shane came home sick from school.
“I was really sick in fourth period,” he said. “But it was picture day, and I was getting my picture taken in fifth period, so I decided to stay in school.”
I felt for the guy. We kept talking about the day.
“Oh, and Mr. T says I’m going to be the director next year for the Morning Show,” he said – as casually as if he were telling me about his homework.
“WHAT?!” I squealed. “You’re going to be the director?”
The Morning Show is the televised broadcast of morning announcements. Shane has been working in the tech booth since the beginning of sixth grade. Being director means that he would be in charge of the tech booth.
“Yeah, because I’m one of only two seventh graders who will still be here next year,” he said.
Shane tends to put down his own accomplishments. When he makes a good joke, for example, he’ll tell me where he first heard it – even if his timing and re-usage was spot-on. Now he was doing the same thing with being promoted.
“Shane, that’s great!” I said.
“Yeah but really I’m just the only one who knows all the stuff,” he said.
“You know all the stuff!” I said. “That’s great! I can’t believe you’re going to be director!”
There is no higher position in the tech booth.
“Yeah,” he said.
“So tell me exactly what Mr. T said,” I said, still trying to encourage him to feel some pride.
“Well, we were all talking in the booth and Mr. T came in. And one of the kids said, ‘maybe Shane will be director next year.’ And Mr. T said, ‘yeah, he will.’ And then he just walked out.”
Hm.
This seemed rather anti-climactic.
“That’s great,” I reiterated. “You are going to be a wonderful director!”
“Well, I still need to learn one more thing,” he said. “But I’m going to learn that in a couple of weeks.”
“You have the rest of the year to learn everything,” I said. “You’re going to be a great director.”
And he will.
As long as Shane actually gets to be director, and that half-hearted “yeah he will” actually meant “yes, he will.”
