Friendly persuasion

I can't help but marvel at how the tables have turned. As few as two years ago, I didn't worry a bit about Ben's social life. Paul, on the other hand, I had big concerns. Both years he spent in preschool, he didn't really bond with the other kids. He came away without a single solid friendship. I was really concerned for Paul going into kindergarten.

Fast forward to today, and everything is the opposite. Paul has friends aplenty. He's got a best buddy, and he establishes new relationships with ease. He has no fear of calling up someone and asking to play. Now, Ben, I'm a little concerned.

By all indications, Ben does fine socially in school. He hangs with a group of boys at lunch and recess. A sports lover, my oldest seems to gravitate toward the jocks, a crowd of boys destined for a popularity that I don't see Ben reaching. But I digress. Figuring out that stuff is all part of growing up.

I have no desire for Ben to be popular. On the contrary. I was no popularity queen when I was Ben's age (quite the opposite, to tell the truth), so I take a dim view of that whole game. No, all I want is for Ben to have at least a small group of close friends, but that seems to be a struggle for him.

Kids from Ben's class don't call, and he doesn't call them either. Rarely if ever does he have people over to the house or go anywhere. For Mark and me, this is tough. In high school, Mark was shy and rarely did anything with his peers. He regrets that, and it's hard for him to see our son on the same path.

More often than not, we turn to nagging. "Ben, why don't you call Kobe?" "Go and see if the neighbor can play!" Sometimes we go so far as compelling him to call two or three people. This goes about as well as you'd expect, and we feel powerless to help.

The other day, we were at Paul's soccer game, and one of Ben's classmates was there. "Look Ben, it's Mac!" I said. "Why don't you go over and say hi?" I coaxed, knowing full well that he wouldn't.

When Mac walked by a little later, I tried again, prompting Ben to say hello. He waved weakly and mumbled. "Oh, guess he didn't see me," he said. When his classmate came past a final time, instead of saying hi, Ben got a sudden and curious urge to cheer for Paul vociferously. Yeah, I wasn't buying it.

It's such a tricky situation. Ben is an introvert, no doubt. He's happy reading books two or three hours a day. That's great, but both Mark and I worry that now is the time when he really needs to make connections with his peers. We fear that if he doesn't put himself out there now, he may be left behind.

I've been reading the book, The Purpose of Boys. In it, the author notes that boys tend to bond over activities. They're more comfortable chatting while throwing a ball back and forth than having a deep conversation.

In the end, it's not up to Mark or me. At 10, Ben's well past the age of us setting up play dates for him. We'll have to trust him to make his own choices. I'll keep the bit of knowledge from the book in mind, though, and try to work my influence subtly. Ben does like activities, so we'll encourage him to pursue those, and hope that he'll foster some friendships along the way.

For all of the aforementioned reasons, I'm so relieved that my boys all have one another. They bicker plenty, but as Paul is fond of saying, they're best buddies. And that is a lot.

Reflections on an elementary school career

Kindergarten

First grade

Third grade

Fourth grade

"It's my last full day of elementary school!" he said gleefully, a broad smile playing across his tan face, as he exited the minivan yesterday. My heart seized a little bit when he said this. It's not as if this hadn't resonated with me already. Ben's declaration was just my latest reminder.

Fifth grade

Whether I've been fretting over the looming middle school years or trying to process the realities that my son might face as he gets older, this transition has taken up a lot of my mind space in the past few months. Much of what I'm feeling is a wonderment at how quickly the years have passed, and I don't know if it's the state of the last several years or just time's funny tricks. Granted, we didn't anticipate Ben spending one less year in elementary school.

Ben's first day of kindergarten was a scant two weeks after Gus was born, and I was still such an emotional mess on that first day of school. Gus was not an easy baby or, for that matter, an easy toddler. He was colicky, and then once he became mobile, he was a bigger handful than ever. Things really didn't get easier until he turned 4. I can safely say that I spent most of kindergarten, first and third grades in a haze of stress. In the intervening years, we've sent Paul to school and Gus to preschool, and I'm scratching my head trying to figure out how it's been nearly five years since we started this adventure.

I'll try not to bemoan this, because every parent knows of what I describe. Instead, I'll take a short walk down memory lane. I'm so thankful to our school and to each of Ben's teachers. Class sizes have only grown since Ben enrolled, but every one of his teachers has taken the time and effort to look out for our boy and his needs. In the past five years, Ben has learned a dizzying amount, and it's been so gratifying to watch.

I often feel wistful for the time that has passed. There's no way around it. The process of kids growing is irrevocably painful, but it's exciting, too. How amazing is it that Mark and I can have real, nearly adult conversations with our son now?

I will steal a bit from the series finale of "The Office," and I'll do it badly, because I don't remember the exact words Andy Bernard spoke. It was something along the lines of not knowing you're in the best time of your life until it comes to an end. We're in that best time right now, the halcyon days. So let's stay right here, cause these are the good old days.

A piece of advice: be your child's advocate

When Mark and I were going through the process of deciding whether to accelerate Ben from first to third grade, the teachers and principal helping us left us with one big message. No matter what you choose to do, you need to be an advocate for your child. Three years later, we're still following that advice, and this past week we've had to put it to the test.

Ben has been receiving gifted-talented services since first grade. Last Wednesday, we received a letter telling us that he no longer qualified. The reason for the decision is a little long and hard to explain. I will try to make a long story short. While Ben's scored extremely well on the MAPS, an academic test the districts uses, and the gifted-talented assessment, his WKCE (state standardized test) scores did not hold up as well when compared to scores across the nation. For that reason, the district decided to remove him from the G-T roster for next fall.

We had spent years working with teachers to get Ben's needs met. A team from Ben's school helped us make the decision to advance Ben to third grade. I know Menasha faces many challenges as a district, but I felt confident in its teachers and administrators. As I read the letter, I felt stunned, like the district had suddenly and unceremoniously abandoned Ben. 

In the days that followed, as the news sunk in, our anger and bafflement only grew. We know Ben is gifted, and his classroom teacher was just as surprised as we were when we approached her with the news. All along, we've had teachers telling us that it's hard for them to meet Ben's needs, and suddenly the one thing that had helped keep Ben on the radar was being taken away.

The frustration that we felt is what so many parents feel, I'm sure. When making important decisions about a child's education, it's vital to look at all the aspects of that individual. It's not right to reduce him or her to a number, a score. And that is exactly what we felt was happening. Every other bit of evidence pointed to Ben needing these services, but one piece excluded him, and that was it.

We had a phone conversation and then a face-t0-face meeting with the district's G-T coordinator. He was sympathetic but steadfast in his refusal to reconsider, arguing that changing the standards for Ben would "open the floodgates," forcing the district to re-examine every child whose parents received a letter (hmmm ... not a bad idea, now that you mention it). "Do I think Ben is gifted? Yes," he said, only adding to our consternation.

When we pressed the coordinator, we learned that a handful of kids were in Ben's same situation (not exactly a flood of kids) with high scores on the two tests and lower on the WKCE. Something did not seem right about that. We knew that the bar was set higher for the WKCE this past fall. Kids may have performed similarly to the previous year, but their scores may have been lower because of the new standards. Perhaps, we thought, this wasn't the best year to make decisions about taking kids out of G-T based on that test.

It didn't take long for us to decide to take our grievance to the next level of administration, the director of curriculum. We had a meeting this morning and went in ready for a fight. Mark had a speech all prepared, stating explicitly that we wanted Ben placed back in G-T.

Mark began to talk. When he reached the point at which he described accelerating Ben, the director stopped us. "What? Did you say Ben was accelerated?" 

Aha. She didn't have the whole picture. This was my point. Each child who was cut from the program deserved a close and thorough look. In the end, I don't think the missing information was even the deciding factor, but it didn't take long for the director to tell us that Ben had been reinstated into the program. 

The news came so quickly, it was almost like a TV show or movie, where the person doesn't hear the good news and just keeps arguing. Say what? Mark didn't even get to finish his speech! I practically broke down in tears of relief, so stressed had I been for the past week.

I don't want to blame the district, and I don't harbor any ill will (or much, anyway). But I do know that bit of long-ago advice came in handy. We advocated for Ben, and it worked. We got him what we felt he needed. It wasn't easy. I'm not comfortable being pushy, but it was so worth it.

Your situations may not be exactly like ours. Paul falls somewhere more in the middle of the pack. Gus has a whole set of different issues (we may well need to advocate for him in completely different ways). In a time when school districts are stressed to the max, we as parents really need to step up to make sure our kids' needs are being met.

I share my story in hopes that it might help you. Fight. Fight for your kids.