Updated: October 15, 2023
“I’m concerned he’s reading at a first-grade level,” I mentioned to the pediatrician, holding my breath as I awaited her reaction.
“What? He’s 10!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and concern. I took a moment, choosing not to respond with the obvious—yes, I know his age. Instead, I continued, “Two years ago, he was at a preschool level, so technically, he’s made two years of progress in that time.” I expected her to acknowledge this effort, but she didn’t.
Our conversation quickly shifted to various dyslexia interventions and the pressure of reaching “grade level.” I left the appointment feeling a profound sadness for my youngest son, who works tirelessly, yet often feels inadequate. It’s easy to see why he feels this way; learning disabilities can be deceptive.
The doctor, well-versed in dyslexia and learning differences, understands the nuances of my son’s IQ testing and learning profile. She recognizes the stark contrast between his exceptional abilities in some areas and significant delays in others. Yet, even after years of educational therapy, she was astonished that he could only read simple texts like “Hop On Pop.”
I understand her shock. Learning disabilities are indeed tricky.
We discussed the options between traditional schooling and homeschooling. I once believed that being in school was essential for him to receive proper interventions. However, the doctor surprised me by stating, “Given his needs, the school system likely won’t provide adequate support. You might eventually convince the district to fund a special private school, but it could take years, and I’m not sure it would be a good match for him.”
As I returned home to my children, I felt overwhelmed by the weight of it all. I left the appointment with useful advice, for which I am grateful, but I’m also weary.
It feels like we’re in a race, with “grade level” as the finish line. Yet, this concept holds little significance for my children. My oldest reads at a college level but struggles with even the simplest executive functions. My youngest excels in history and science but couldn’t read the word ‘said’ just yesterday.
I know better than to let grade levels dictate our journey. But I still yearn for that sense of linear progress. I want to confidently tell others, “Yes, they are at grade level,” and avoid the anxiety that creeps in, questioning whether I’m doing enough for them.
But my children are more than mere numbers—they’re not equations with set deadlines. While achieving grade level would be convenient, it’s not always a feasible expectation. More importantly, when I reflect on who they are becoming and what will truly matter for their futures, the pressure of reading levels and math standards diminishes.
So today, instead of stressing over the progress still to be made, I choose to celebrate what my sons have achieved. I admire the computer my son assembled in under two hours, and I cherish the genuine joy my youngest displayed as he read a book, regardless of its label: Step 1 Ready to Read.
Today, I commit to doing my best for them. This means recognizing and accepting my children exactly as they are, without the constraints of grade levels.
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In summary, the journey of parenting children with learning differences is complex and often fraught with challenges. However, focusing on individual achievements rather than conventional benchmarks can lead to a more fulfilling and supportive environment for growth.