Coloring outside the lines

The letter is still on my desk, the note that says my child needs to be rescreened in the fall for the special preschool for children with learning issues because he just might qualify.  The screening actually went much better than I thought it would, I thought he would refuse entirely to cooperate, but only the poor hearing lady was so afflicted, the others he cooperated to some degree, but not enough to escape the label of a potential learning disability.  The little boy that can pitch balls to his father waiting with a bat or kick a ball with peculiar accuracy barely hit the wall with his bean bag, let alone the circle he was supposed to aim for.  He only jumped up and down on one foot once rather than for a full five seconds, though he spends his days in like exertion.  He could care less about counting and colors and actually said the wrong letter intentionally, smiling impishly all the while.  He couldn't identify an umbrella, we don't own one and as it rarely rains here, neither does anyone else.  When asked to twiddle his thumbs, he just looked at the lady wondering why she would ask him to do something so silly.  He didn't cut on the line as he'd much rather do it his own way.  He doesn't pronounce his words quite right, and when corrected he actually tries to convince you that it is your pronunciation that is lacking.

He can tell you about tractors and the various breeds of cattle and all types of construction equipment, but he really could care less about the ABC's.  He can ride his trike backwards and stop on a dime, just don't ask him to do something silly like jump on one foot.  He likes to color and draw and cut, just not inside the lines.  He hears just fine, but chooses what he actually listens to.  I don't worry about his brain, his ability to learn or concentrate, or even his grammar and pronunciation, I know he understands, that he is a quick learner, and a rather sharp little chap, at least in what he is interested in or thinks is worth his while.  He dots his t's and crosses his i's on purpose or refrains from doing anything at all, just because he feels like it.  But he doesn't fit into 'the box,' as it were; he doesn't score well on 'the test,' and therefore there must be a problem with him, rather than how they are measuring his capabilities.  But children are not computers that should perform to certain factory specifications, each one is different and unique.  His value and brightness are not assessed solely on his ability to 'compute' as the government or social scientists or whoever decides he must.  They are a hammer and he is a screw, but all they can see when they look at a child is that he ought to be a nail, not comprehending that there is more to his being than what is on their list.

I was thought a slow child, they stuck me in the bottom half of the kindergarten class that wasn't taught to read until a year later.  They threatened special education classes and I remember at least a year of summer school.  Years later I have my doctorate and over all the long years of school (21 in all) I was always in the top of my class (save in handwriting).  It wasn't that I was dumb or slow, I had had a wretched home life and had no social skills, I was shy and awkward and I had been told I was stupid so much I believed it, even later in life with straight A's; I also had a bit of an attitude akin to that of my son: if I thought something was dumb or stupid or not worth my while, I just didn't do it; they mistook won't for can't.  My little boy can be either very stubborn or shy when it comes to strangers, but once he warms up, he is the life of the party.  His is a happier home than ever mine was and he exudes a confidence I'm not sure I've ever possessed, but so too is his will a thing of iron.  He will excel in those things that interest him and disappoint in those areas that don't.  He too might wear the label of ignoramus, but it will be no more true in his case than it was in mine; he will learn what he must, even if it isn't in the time or order 'they' think he must.

I look at that letter and smile, for I don't care what 'the system' labels my son, for I know the truth, but it makes me wonder how many other kids are in a similar situation and lack an understanding advocate, who spend the entirety of their childhood thinking themselves stupid because their unique shape doesn't fit nicely in 'the box' and I wonder what the repercussions are for their self worth and their future lives.  Chilling thought indeed!