I spend my days working with dyslexic middle schoolers. When I started in this position, nearly ten years ago, my students would come to me with questions and challenges. They could identify what was hard for them and they were eager to get help. I loop with the same small group of students from sixth to seventh to eighth grade, with a few exceptions. By the end of three years together, this group starts to feel like a little family. I become their ‘school mom,’ sometimes nagging them to complete their work, often providing encouragement and support, and always advocating for them in their classrooms. We have a lot of laughs, and we work through some hard things, and it is incredibly rewarding to see how much they grow and change over three years. Most of the time, I love my job.
I spend my evenings with teen boys, too. One has ADHD and the other has mild autism. I’ve often told my friends that my hardest years of teaching are the years when my children at home are in the same age range as my students at school. When you teach middle school and go home to pre-schoolers, it’s a different kind of hard. When you teach middle school and go home to middle schoolers, it’s the same kind of hard ALL day long. That’s exhausting.
But yesterday was pretty great. My students were focused, well-behaved, and productive. My youngest son brought up his science grade from a D to an A. He talked with me about an essay and worked on his homework without me nagging him about it. My oldest son made up three quizzes he missed while attending his grandfather’s funeral last week. I was feeling pretty good.
And then today happened.
My oldest son’s guidance counselor reached out. He wants to meet because my son’s grades are so poor. Just when I thought things were looking up.
My youngest son’s grades got updated. Sure… he’s got an A in science… but he’s got an F in math and a D in history.
I thought I had a good lesson for my 8th graders today. But they came in for their first period class half asleep, and it was like pulling teeth to get them to make eye contact, let alone answer questions. I wanted them to read 9 pages of a book, and you would think I asked them to donate a kidney. It was torture.
I had a fun lesson planned for my 7th graders, but they spent the whole class making faces at each other and laughing at inside jokes and followed exactly ZERO of the classroom instructions.
My sixth graders were working on something I thought we’d mastered, and they were making a ton of errors. When I tried to help them correct their mistakes, they responded with eye-rolling and snark and deep sighs.
*****
I’ve been talking to colleagues and friends, and we’re all frustrated. We know there’s a problem, but we can’t figure out the cause or the solution.
Was it COVID? Did they miss out on some developmental growth that’s still having an impact?
Is it technology? Are they too accustomed to quick answers and immediate gratification?
Is it attentional? Are they so used to constant entertainment that they can’t focus on text or classroom discussion?
Maybe it’s that parenting styles have changed. Are we so focused on supporting kids that they aren’t able to build resilience?
Are kids just too busy? Overscheduled with sports and music lessons and tutoring and after school jobs?
Is homework outdated? Does it serve a purpose? Is asking kids to work at home akin to asking employees to work after hours?
Or maybe we’re not teaching them to set priorities and manage their time and find balance in their lives.
It could be any or all of those things. Teachers blame it on parents. Parents blame it on teachers. And being both a parent and a teacher, I don’t think I can point a finger at all. My students are terrible students. My CHILDREN are terrible students. And despite my best efforts in both arenas, I feel pretty helpless because I can’t seem to find ANYTHING that makes it better.
*****
Imagine a scenario.
Bobby is a seventh grade student who struggles with dyslexia. Reading is really hard for him. Bobby is able to move slowly through class assignments, but rarely completes any work outside of class. Bobby also has ADHD, which makes his phone particularly addictive to him. He frequently has to be reminded to take off his hood, put away his earbuds, and turn off his phone.
Bobby’s teachers are concerned. They work overtime to ensure that all of the text he encounters is available in audio form. If the audio is not readily available, the teacher creates it. Assignments are modified to limit text, and Bobby has a special education teacher who supports him in class and during his study hall. She creates a list of missing assignments and strategizes with him about how to tackle the work. All of his teachers offer to meet with him after school. Some offer extensions so that he has additional time to complete overdue assignments. Bobby’s teachers want to take his phone during class so that he isn’t distracted by the technology. School administration tells them they’re not allowed to confiscate the students’ (expensive) personal property.
Bobby’s parents realize that he is not doing well in school. They log into the classroom portal. They make a list of the missing assignments. They set up a quiet study space and check in with the child each night. They try to provide incentives: rewards for good grades. Believing that they’re doing what’s right (and what’s expected of ‘good parents’), they set up a meeting with school staff to advocate for Bobby.The team comes up with a plan. The teacher will email weekly. The teacher will modify homework. The teacher will stay after school with the student. The teacher will let the student re-take tests. The teacher will provide extra credit opportunities. (Even though this creates extra work for teachers, nearly all of us are willing to do it if it helps our students to be successful.)
But the problem comes when the plan is NOT successful. Bobby’s behavior remains consistent. The only thing that has changed is the atmosphere, both at school and at home. Bobby’s teachers are frustrated that their efforts haven’t been successful. They begin to feel helpless, because they don’t know what else they can do to improve the situation. At home, Bobby’s parents are tracking his work. They see missing assignments and ask about them. Bobby shrugs. “I don’t know what that is.” “I swear I turned that in. She just hasn’t graded it yet.” “That assignment isn’t due until next week.” Parents attempt to get clarification by scrolling through Google classroom, emailing the teacher, or checking with other parents. Hours are consumed. There is arguing and misery and, ultimately, the parents don’t have enough knowledge about what happened in class to guide the student to make better choices.
Both the parents and the teachers feel that they are working hard, to no avail. They begin to blame one another. In Bobby’s case, his parents may sue the district for an expensive outplacement because the district has failed to educate their child. Bobby’s teachers may start grading more leniently, ensuring that Bobby gets at least a ‘C,’ to avoid confrontation with the parents. Everyone involved becomes exhausted and angry.
Everyone except Bobby.
*****
Which leads me to a thought.
In education over the past few years, we’ve moved away from concrete consequences. And I understand why. I really do. I also used to believe it was the best thing for our students. We should provide incentives for them instead of punishments. We should adopt restorative practices and focus on relationship building.
Yes. And.
I had a few students fail classes last term. These were NOT students who fell through the cracks. These were students who were given every opportunity to succeed. After school extra help. Modified assignments. Parent conferences. Tracking sheets. Support classes. Reference sheets. Study groups. And after all of that, a team of teachers got together and determined that we could not, in good conscience, give these students passing grades.
When teachers allow a failing grade to stand, we haven’t done it lightly. We gave those Fs thoughtfully. Regretfully. With lots of conversations with family and colleagues and students.
And then, we were brought in for a discussion with our administration. The message delivered was, “Let’s think outside the box to figure out how to help these kids succeed.” The message received was, “Don’t allow students to fail. It looks bad.” I felt insulted. Angry. Resentful.
It felt as if we were being told that the students didn’t have any responsibility for their own learning.
*****
I have a junior in high school. And I think he needs to fail algebra (and maybe history). That probably sounds harsh, but it’s a natural consequence.
Imposed consequences don’t work for this kid. I’ve taken away his phone. Grounded him. Taken away his keys. Taken away his privileges. And all of that just means that he sits in his bedroom with his sketchbook. He becomes antisocial and depressed but it doesn’t MOTIVATE him to complete his history project or study algebra.
Last term, I thought, “He can’t take his mommy to college with him. He needs to develop self-monitoring skills and internal motivation.” I decided to let him fail.
Which he did. But you know what? It didn’t change anything. He swore up and down he’d bring up his grades for last term. He hasn’t.
And I honestly believe that the only thing that will push him to change is the meaningful, natural consequence of having to repeat the class.
*****
What we have to remember is that we’re all on the same team. We all want these kids to succeed. We want them to develop academic skills and motivation and resilience. But they won’t be able to do that if the adults in their lives can’t get on the same page. We all need to provide encouragement AND hold them accountable. We all need to be consistent in our messaging and provide consequences when they’re needed. We all need to be open to listening and working together.
I think I’m writing this post for myself more than anything else. I look around at other families and it feels like they’ve got it all together. I keep trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong. But I also know I’m not entirely alone. I’ve been in many parent teacher conferences with frustrated moms who can’t hold back their tears. They look at me helplessly and ask, “What can I DO?”
I don’t have the answer. But I can relate. And I can share some things that I’ve tried in my own home. Here’s the list.
Things that (sometimes) worked for my daughter with trauma and anxiety:
- Let her work in her room.
- Give her lots of space.
- Edit essays with her once they’re done.
- Help her find the right word. For as long as it takes.
- Provide lots of encouragement and reassurance.
- Let her listen to music.
- NEVER email the teacher. For the love of God. How embarrassing.
Things that (sometimes) work for my son with ADHD:
- Make him work anywhere BUT his room.
- Sit in the room with him. Don’t help unless he asks. But be there.
- Provide good snacks.
- White noise helps. Avoid music.
- Email the teacher. Often.
- Physically take the phone. It can’t even be near him.
Things that (sometimes) work for my child with autism:
- Quiet. He needs quiet.
- Music. He can’t work without music.
- Sit with him. Help.
- For God’s sake, leave him ALONE to work.
- Email the teacher.
- Let him email the teacher. He’s in HIGH SCHOOL, for God’s sake.
As you can see, I don’t have any answers. But I freaking love these kids. All of them. The ones at home and the ones and school. So I’m not giving up. And I’m open to suggestions.
