The Psychology of Frogs

Patti Smith Minglin is enjoying her coffee at Starbucks while watching Jack write most of his numbers backwards.  Yet another sign that Harvard is in our future.

Watching Jack write his numbers backwards on the blackboard inside the coffee shop, I begin to regret our decision to not hold him back a year before he started kindergarten.  He is a young kindergartner having just turned 5 a few days before school started (and won't even be 6 on the first day of first grade thanks to a change in the academic calendar), but he had two years of preschool under his belt and is the youngest of three.  He carried himself in a way that most kindergarten students did not and not only had conquered such academic achievements as knowing the alphabet and spelling his name, he could also sit still on the reading rug and share his crayons.

Those first few weeks of kindergarten were brutal as Jack transitioned from a schedule of half-day preschool to full-day kindergarten.  Notes were sent home weekly explaining that Jack was having trouble grasping the basic classroom rules which resulted in his ‘frog’ being moved almost on a daily basis—a fate worse than getting your DS taken away.  In between the boot-camp-like learning structure I had created at home with flash cards and dry-erase boards, I spent almost every evening of those days crying myself to sleep—certain I had just sealed this poor boy’s fate and he would spend the rest of his educational career struggling to survive.

I’ll be honest, there was some real reason to doubt the authenticity of my decision.  After all, I am a work-from-home Mom who couldn’t wait until all three of my children would be in school full-time and we would finally be out from underneath the financial strain of childcare.  During those first weeks of school I began to think I had been blinded by my selfishness and what I thought I saw in Jack—that spark that made me believe he could succeed in school—was never really there.

Even when the weekly notes stopped and Jack’s frog seemed to stay in place on a more regular basis, I was worried.  I had such a knot in my stomach as we walked into the school to have Jack’s first parent/teacher conference—a knot that got even tighter when I noticed two teachers sitting at the table instead of just one.  “Great.  He’s doing such a horrible job that they have brought in a school therapist to help us explain to Jack why he has to leave his kindergarten friends and go back to preschool,” I whispered to my husband. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Minglin, this is Mrs. B, Jack’s reading teacher,” his teacher started, “We have to tell you something about Jack.”  From my previous experience as a parent, that sentence coming from a teacher (or psychologist, doctor, coach, etc.) is rarely followed by anything positive.  “Jack is doing such a wonderful job,” she finished.

“Really?  I mean, not that I was really worried, but he’s so young and all those notes about not getting the rules and his frog kept moving and…” 

“Oh, the frog,” his teacher started, “The overall progress of Jack does not ultimately reside in how many lily pads his frog has moved for the day.”  I suddenly felt so foolish—had I really boiled down my child’s educational success to the movement of a small amphibian?  This was my third child, yet I felt like a “new mom” sitting in that small (and highly uncomfortable) kindergarten chair. 

Yet, here I am near the end of the school year, sitting in a coffee shop and still second-guessing our decision.  “Jack, what is 2+5?”  I innocently ask. 

“Seven,” he quickly replies.

“How do you spell truck?”

“T-R-U-C.” 

First grade may be on the horizon, but Harvard still appears to be out of our grasp.