On Holding Back

I had Danny's conference and I'm beginning to suspect that his teacher thinks I should have held him back. If you are a mother of a child with a birthday near the age cutoff for kindergarten, you know this stress too well.

"Ready or not, here I come!" That's what entering kindergarten used to be like when most of us were children. These days, parents have taken a new worry upon themselves: "my child is old enough, but should I send him or her to kindergarten?" Parents of four-year-old children across the U.S. worry about a decision that they will have to live with for the rest of their child's education...and school hasn't even started yet!

If you are struggling with this issue, I can guarantee I will not be the first person to give you advice. People have very strong opinions on this issue. Even the language we use to describe this decision is hopelessly loaded: think for a minute about "holding back." Like your child is a horse at the gates, chomping at the bit while the others break forth, leaving him behind. And "promotion" is no better, as if your gifted little executive has made a great impression with the higher ups and is on his way to bigger and better things.

But folk wisdom is usually pretty clear on this issue. Your well-meaning, fellow parent friends will say something like this:

"You have a boy? Hold him back!"

or "You have a girl? What are you worried about?"

Now wouldn't it be nice if the decision was that simple?

There's some truth to the gender bias here: many preschool girls gravitate towards quiet or pretend forms of play that they will be engaged in during kindergarten as well: coloring, puzzles, pretend play... they might even play school! Many parents and preschool teachers overestimate little girls' maturity levels because these play preferences make them start to look like good little kindergarten children when they are as young as three years old.

On the other hand, many boys seek out more active and loud types of play that parents and preschool teachers shudder to think of making their appearance in the kindergarten classroom. As a result, young boys' abilities to sit still or follow directions tend to be underestimated if the boys haven't had a chance to demonstrate these behaviors in structured preschool settings.

But the truth is, there's no simple rule to follow about kindergarten entrance. The decision must be made for your child and your child only. If you are lucky enough to have an educator who knows your child give you advice that you actually agree with, read no further. But if you don't agree with your child's preschool teacher or your child's future elementary school, or if you don't have the benefit of an educator's opinion, read on.

The first thing I want you to remember is, it's not about you. Look deep in your heart and be honest with yourself...do you want to hold your child back because you want him to stay your baby just one more year? Or do you want to promote her because you will take great pride in saying that all her teachers thought she was just so darn qualified, even at the tender young age of four?

The truth is, parents tend to overestimate the importance of academics in making this decision. The logic goes...if my child is reading already, doing addition and subtraction, has been in preschool for years, etc., she is more than ready for kindergarten, and she will be (gasp!) bored if I hold her back.

On the other side of the fence, parents put too much weight on the academic advantage in later years, that this could be the difference between going to Harvard or the local community college. Part of this overemphasis on academic factors is that parents assume school will be one-size-fits-all, and they should try to stack the deck in favor of their child so that he or she will excel in comparison with her peers, while not being so bored she doesn't check out on schooling altogether. And I won't pretend that there aren't teachers who teach to the middle, and who might have difficulty challenging an advanced reader, or supporting a struggling one. But most schools these days are engaged in efforts to meet each child where they are and teach to his or her strengths.

The other truth about this issue is, teachers tend to overestimate the importance of social and emotional maturity. One favorite euphemism for educators on this topic is giving "the gift of time." But sometimes the behaviors teachers will cite for needing this time are not necessarily going to "work themselves out" with another year of growth.

If your child is the oldest at home and tends to be bossy or controlling when playing with his peers, do you really think he will become less so if he is given a year to get older and bigger and stronger than the other kindergartners? Perhaps your child is shy or quiet and you're hoping the extra year will help her grow in confidence and assertiveness. But if your child is allowed hours of quiet, solitary play at home or in a small day care setting, will the shyness or quietude work their way out of her modus operandi? No, the extra year before kindergarten is not in and of itself a gift. It is only a gift if it is used well. If your child has challenges with social skills, they won't get any better unless he has some instruction and practice in making them better. And sometimes, the very best place for developing those social skills or maturity levels is in kindergarten.

While academic accomplishments are great, and socially competent, mature children are a delight to have in class, I think decisions on this issue should hinge mostly upon two factors: attention span and impulse control. If your child gets up from your lap and wanders away from a highly engaging children's performance, how do you think circle time is going to go? If you wouldn't even consider telling your four-year-old to "use your words" for fear that they'll come out as expletives during the assault on a child who has just taken his toy, it may be a sign that your child is not in control of his or her impulses. Much of the kindergarten day will require listening--thus, the need for an attention span--and waiting--thus, the need for impulse control.

If you have a child with both of these in place, you may well have a child who is ready for kindergarten.

Teachers Play Favorites

I hate to be the bearer of uncomfortable news, but here it is...teachers play favorites.

As a parent, I hope you never find this out by experience. The truth is, you might not believe me unless your child is not among the favored ones. Or you might notice if a teacher tells you something about another child that you'd shudder to think she was saying about yours.

Unlike the whole "teacher's pet" of yesteryear, today's teachers are more equal-opportunity. Teachers don't just have one or two favorites, they usually have several. And there are very few that they find, well, less likable. Remember, teachers are only human. They are just as drawn to friendly, attractive, bright children as you are. The only problem is, as a parent, you automatically find your own child to be friendly, attractive and bright. So it wouldn't even occur to you that your child's teacher wouldn't immediately love your child, too. However, when a teacher surveys a class of 25 children, he or she simply doesn't see them all the way their parents do.

I have to deal with this uncomfortable fact this year. OK, painful fact. You see, my first grader, Thomas, is simply not one of his teacher's favorites.

I can tell. I can tell because at his conference she asked me if he pestered me with questions the way he pesters her. I can tell because the only anecdote she told me about him was that he asked her, "are we going to read this book all year?" I can tell because the only work sample she highlighted was the shortest entry in his journal. I can tell because when I asked her how he was doing socially, she said he was an elitist. When I asked her what she meant, she said that one time he was reluctant to help out a struggling classmate who couldn't read as well as he could. (When I asked Thomas about it later, he said that the kid was mean to him on the playground).

But I can mostly tell because of what she didn't say.

She didn't have specific stories about him, she didn't smile when she talked about him, she didn't have much to share at all. And when I mentioned he had a playdate with another little boy in the class, she lit up and said, "Oh, now HE'S adorable!" and she actually (I still can't quite believe it) got up and ran to her desk to show me a picture this OTHER KID made for her. And a book that the OTHER KID wrote that he dedicated to her.

I can tell.

I ended the conference with the desperate, sinking question, "Are you enjoying my Thomas?" Of course she said yes, but the sinking feeling was still there.

I know that she's wrong about him. I know my son's not an elitist. I know when he asked if they would read the book all year, he just wanted to know what to expect, he wasn't saying he didn't enjoy it. I know when he pesters her with questions, it's because he's feeling nervous, and if she gave him a reassuring word he would settle down and work. But she doesn't know all this. And I won't waste my breath telling her. She won't believe me anyway. She needs to see for herself.

Teachers draw conclusions about kids based on a few examples of behavior early in the year. I can hope that my son's behaviors will reveal who he really is in time. I can hope she'll change her mind about him. I can hope he'll win her over. I can hope.

Or I can act.

I know she has drawn conclusions based on my son's behaviors. So guess what I did? I swallowed my disappointment. I swallowed my frustration. I swallowed my pain. And talked to my son.

When I came home from the conference, I told him he was doing great. Because he is. But I also told him to change some of those behaviors. I told him it is annoying when he asks the same questions again and again, whether he's asking us, or his teachers, or anyone. I told him people will think he doesn't like an activity if he asks if it will be over soon. And I told him that when a teacher asks him to do something, even help another child who he doesn't like, he should do it, just like he should help his brother when we ask him to. And I am repeating these lessons whenever they naturally arise.

Why would I go to such lengths? Why ask my child to act differently, just because his teacher drew the wrong conclusions about him? Why make it my son's problem that his teacher doesn't have a soft spot in her heart for him, at least not yet?

Because when I was a teacher, I know there were a few kids who made my heart smile. And there were other kids that I had to remind myself were somebody's babies. But I didn't think I played favorites. I taught each according to his or her needs. The children who were disrespectful, or angry, or sullen, still got the best I had to offer as a teacher. But maybe, just maybe, they didn't get the best I had to offer as a person.

You see, in teacher-speak, playing favorites stems from a process called building rapport. You try to build a relationship with each of your students ... get to know their likes and dislikes, their strengths and weaknesses, what makes them tick. And in this process, you get drawn to some kids more than others. Kids who remind you of yourself, perhaps, or of your own kids. Kids who work harder than others, or who seem more polite or kind than their peers, or kids who have the sweetest smiles you have ever seen.

And what teachers don't realize, and what I didn't realize when I had my own students, is that the human connection you make with these kids makes you praise them with a little more enthusiasm, encourage them with a little more patience, comfort them with a little more empathy.

So that's why I coached my son to be a bit more attractive to his teacher. It may not work, but I have to try. Because I know how she feels about him will make a difference. Whether he knows it or not. And whether she knows it or not.

I know it.