Um . . . Okay, But I'm Kind of Sad and Nervous About It

All summer, we have eagerly awaited the afternoon when we could walk over the school and find out who the Boy's teacher will be for his second grade year. We made that walk yesterday afternoon with another family. Would he get second-grade teacher A, whom we're hoping for? Would he get second-grade teacher B who would also be okay? Would he get second-grade teacher C, whom we'd rather not have?

Turns out, none of the above. He is getting teacher D, who taught first grade last year and who is, this year, teaching a 1st-2nd split. The class will have 16 first graders and seven second graders. When I looked at the list, it was hard for me not to feel that the Boy has been held back. And this is difficult to digest, since he's such a smart little guy. I know that's kind of a cliche thing for me to say. We all think our kids are smart, but, really, he is. He may not be a genius, he might not be gifted, but he's got some pretty stellar academic skills--for one, he's great at thinking algebraically, which pleases his father to no end. And he performed fine last year. Not at the top of his class, but fine.

I know the other second graders on the list for the split class. They all struggle a bit academically. My Boy has a few challenges, too. For example, while he can sound out words like nobody's business, he struggles with reading fluency. I think reading just hasn't clicked yet for him. So I understand the reasons he would be assigned to the class. His reading is a little behind. Plus, he's a tiny guy, and he's kind of goofy--in a totally awesome way, of course.

But I'm bothered by this class assignment for two main reasons: First, this classroom is in the pod of first grade classrooms. Whereas all his friends will be moving to the other side of the school, he will still be next to the first graders and kindergarteners. In a sea of first graders, he will be among six other second graders. Also, all the kids think of Teacher D as a first-grade teacher because that's what she has been in the past. Will the other kids tease him or even innocently ask him why he's in first grade again? Probably. The boy, himself, doesn't really understand it. I tried to explain it to him, and he said, "That class sounds weird." He was mollified, however, by the fact that he will go out to the same playground as his friends. But knowing what I know, I worry that those friends will start to move on without him, to leave him behind. Out of sight, out of mind.

This morning, I woke up early thinking about it, and I could tell hubby was awake, too. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at me to see if mine were open:

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
"The Boy's school."
"Me, too," he said.

I also think that if the Boy had done summer school, he would be in a regular second grade class. He was on the cusp for a summer school recommendation, but his first grade teacher didn't really think it was necessary, and we figured we could work on reading at home (which we did, and he's improved quite a bit!). So we decided to forego it. Now, I kind of wish we hadn't. I think they would have placed him differently.

So I'm sad for the Boy. All of his friends are moving to the second grade wing. Some of his friends are even going into a 2nd-3rd grade split. I looked at the list. They are the kids that are a little bigger. They are the kids that can read better.

I'm starting to cry as I write this. I just want, so much, for my Boy to be happy. I think he's sad, and it makes me very sad to see him sad. And now I'm kicking myself for all of the hullabaloo and lead up to checking the teacher lists, which turned out to be confusing and disappointing. And I'm wishing the school had called us to let us know that they had made this decision when, surely, they must realize that the decision--as justified as it may be--will have implications for the child and the family.

But as I sit here trying to pull it together, I'm reminded of a little fable about a Chinese farmer that goes something like this.

One day, a farmer's horse ran away. His neighbors said, "That is bad."

"We'll see," he said.

Then the horse came back, and brought many wild horses with it. Everyone said, "That is good!"

"We'll see," he said.

Then, when his son was breaking the horses, he was thrown and his leg was broken. "That's bad," everyone said.

"We'll see," said the farmer.

Then, the military leaders showed up to draft all of the young men into service. The son couldn't go to war because his leg was broken. "That's good," said the farmers' friends.

"We'll see," said the farmer.


I can't remember the rest of the tale, but I have oftened relied on this story. So, right now, I feel that this is how I must think about it. It seems bad and sad and difficult, but "we'll see." I am somewhat comforted by the fact that I like the teacher. I don't know a lot about her, but I know there are some good things about her.

So. We'll see.