First Grade Starts Soon

We met J's teacher tonight. Dad wanted to somehow find out who is the best teacher in first grade. I wasn't comfortable asking. I mean, it's like asking a parent who their favorite kid is. I know the answer I'd get; "All our teachers are wonderful." It's like the line from The Incredibles, "The law requires that I answer no!"

And I guess I figured it wouldn't really make any difference. I don't know what J will need to learn in first grade, but it won't be reading.

But maybe we should have asked.

Dad decided to bring a book with us to Meet The Teacher night. It was one of Jared's recent reads, titled "Hoot."  I enjoyed it. I enjoy the books my 6 year old brings home!

Dad said, "We've come to warn you about him. He just finished reading this book."

Mrs. McG said, "Oh, do you like to read? I liked that book, too." Then she went on about liking picture books, and does J like picture books? "I read them to my little brother sometimes," he responded. "But I like big books now."  Mrs. McG's smile never wavered. I was wondering why, if she'd read that book, did she not find anything odd with a 6 year old reading it.

Dad tried to bring it up again. Mrs. McG said, "Well, in first grade, we'll be working on reading comprehension, so it'll be different."

And that was that.

Reading comprehension? It's just what I'd feared. Another, "Oh, everyone thinks their kid is special" reaction. As if J is a trained monkey who can sound out words but doesn't have a clue what he's reading. I didn't know this, but turns out J has been discussing the Christian symbolism from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with his dad. If that's not reading comprehension, I don't know what is!

Each child was supposed to draw a picture of something he/she would like to learn about that year. Jared went one step further and wrote his name, then "I would like to learn how to draw well." And then he drew three chicks. Or three chickens in varying stages of growth, I should say.

Dad and I felt like Mrs. McG blew us off, but is otherwise very nice. On the way home, we concluded a discussion we'd had the night before. As we went to bed, I told him that I was tired of the everyone-thinks-their-kid-is-special reaction, so I almost felt like not saying a word to the new teacher. But we decided it wasn't fair to her to leave her hanging like that. On the way home from meeting her, however, we said, "We tried to warn her. I guess she'll just have to figure it out on her own."


After an unsatisfactory experience in his classroom, we went to visit J's engineering teacher, who is an acquaintance of ours. He was happy to see us, as most people don't stop in to see him on Meet The Teacher night. I remember going to see him one year ago, and his reaction was actually quite the same as Mrs. McG's. We thought he'd be excited that J loves K'Nex and Legos, which is what engineering class consists of entirely. I felt like he had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at us.

But that was last year. This year, the story was quite different. "Your child is very different, special. Maybe  you know this already," he said in his charming French accent. He asked what we planned to do about it, and we discussed the lack of options available to us. He pulled out a worksheet that he'd be using for his first lesson and showed it to J. "Easy peasy lemon squeezy," he said. "Yes, J, it is very simple. But you know, you can build whatever comes into your mind, you can make it more complicated if you want to." Then he told us that he would try to find ways to challenge him in his class. He would even let him get out the K'Nex, which are usually reserved for higher grade levels.

Then he took us to see Mr. H's classroom. Mr. H, he said, is a math- and science-minded person, and he has a large K'Nex roller coaster set up in his classroom. We were pleased to walk in and see one of J's teacher "buddies." J chatted with Mr. H all last year while waiting for me to pick him up. And he teaches Second Grade.

On the way home, Dad commented, "Well, we know which teacher we want to request next year!" and then went on to tell me what Mr. H had said. "I'd absolutely love to have J in my class. He's a smart kid!" I didn't hear that conversation word-for-word, but I did see Mr. H's face, and it was very enthusiastic, almost awe-struck. Speaking of awe, that's the best word to describe J's face when he saw the three-track roller coaster made with K'Nex that Mr. H had set up in his room. I could see the wheels turning, thinking of all the fun "modifications" (that's a word he would use) he could make to his own roller coaster K'Nex set.

I wish people would believe me when I tell them about J's abilities, but I guess that's just how it goes. The marked difference in our conversations with his new teacher and his engineering teacher pointed me to this conclusion: people who know J know he's different. So I guess we'll just have to let Mrs. McG get to know J.

Conversation with J, Sleep Troubles

It's 10:30 at night, and I can't get J (6 1/2) to go to bed. He insisted that he's starving, so I gave him some toast and milk. He told me that by squeezing his cheeks, he was compressing the milk. When I told him that you can't compress liquids, he was absolutely incredulous!  He just couldn't believe it. He began talking about water bottles and air pressure. When I told him that the molecules in liquids are just too close together already, he said, "that is extremely weird!"

After going on about it for a while, he went upstairs to ask his dad. I'm not sure he really believed me. How could it be that liquids can't be compressed!!!  I just listened in on their conversation about how baby brother L drinks his bottle and has to let air in, about pumping up bike tires, etc. And then J offered his own example, about scuba divers breathing compressed air.


It's hard for me to send him to bed when he's obviously enjoying the mental stimulation, but last night he couldn't sleep until 1 am! I can't handle that kind of schedule, and all-day First Grade is going to kick his butt in just two weeks.

His pediatrician recommended Melatonin to help him sleep, but so far, it's not helping at all!

Espionage!

Today, J told me that his "persona has been sabotaged!"

After a little probing, I discovered that he doesn't actually know what either word means, exactly, but wow, he knows those words!

He thinks sabotaged means "ruined completely," and "persona" was referring to Firefox Personas, which are themes to decorate your browser.

To Tell, or Not To Tell?

That is the question!

I used to think it was obvious, but now I'm wavering.

I didn't know I was gifted when I was growing up. I remember getting tested, I think in 5th grade, and I remember going to G.A.T.E. stuff, but I never really knew what that meant.

I was genuinely surprised when I went to a "regular" English class in 9th grade and they were looking things up in a dictionary.

I was genuinely surprised when I got straight A's the one and only time (Math always kicked my butt--or so I thought. I was still ahead of most students, but I got B's in my higher classes.)

I was flattered when I was inundated with college pamphlets and even scholarship offers. I was flabbergasted when my one and only BYU (there was never any question of where I would go) send me a Christmas card, a tee-shirt, and an invitation to be in a special Freshman program.

I really had no idea.

And I didn't realize that I had no idea about any of this until my son was a few years old and flabbergasting us daily. And then he started telling everyone how smart he is.

Of course, I wanted to teach him that even the smartest cookies in the jar shouldn't go bragging about it all the time. I mentioned this to my mother, and she said, "Stop telling him he's smart."

That moment was an awakening for me. I realized that she'd done that very same thing to me. She'd kept my smarts a secret from me. And I had just assumed I was average, regular. I don't know how I like that approach.

I can see how it could be beneficial. I appreciate the fact that I'm not cocky, nor was I an outcast because I thought myself intellectually superior to my peers (saying phrases like that is sure to make you an outcast!) On the other hand, feeling average, I did average things. I could have done so much more! I should have done so much more. "Where much is given, much is required," and I feel like more should have been required of me. I feel like more was required of me, but I was ignorant of exactly how much I had been given.

So I'm in a quandry about how to approach this with my own smarty-pants children. I tried not telling J that he's smart, but, well, it's so obvious that everyone comments on it. And while I just traipsed through life in my own little world, not comparing myself to anyone else, J already knows he's quite different. How could he not notice, when he's reading 6th grade books while his "very bright" classmates are learning to read? He feels different, like so many gifted children do. Apparently, I did not. At least not much.

So I have talked frankly with J about his giftedness. Not long after the conversation with my mom, we started telling him that being smart just means that God gave him an extra good brain, and it doesn't mean he's better than anyone else. It just means that it's easier for him to learn things, so that means he needs to learn even more than everyone else. I hope that properly instills in him some humility and sense of duty to use his gifts.

I hope I'm doing this the right way!